Held When You Cannot Hold Yourself

It is deep in the watch when your own hand reaches out to steady your shaking shoulder, and you flinch away from your own touch. The body has become a stranger, a place where comfort feels like an intrusion from the outside.

You recoil because the tenderness you need most feels like the one thing you cannot give yourself. But listen — there is a love that does not wait for you to make peace with your own skin first.

It does not require you to stop flinching before it draws near. It sees the recoil, the terror of your own gentleness, and it loves you entirely within it.

You are not broken because you cannot hold yourself right now. You are held by something far greater than your own two hands.

The light is not afraid of your flinch. It is already there, holding the part of you that is too tired to stay away.