The Embrace Before The Apology

It is deep into the watch, and your hand is hovering in the dark again. You reach out toward the one you love, desperate to bridge the silence, but you pull back before your fingers can find them.

You are afraid that if you actually touch them, they will flinch. That the contact you crave will feel like an intrusion to them.

So you stay frozen, aching in the space between wanting to hold and being too afraid to try. But listen — the light does not flinch.

When the father saw his son coming home, he did not wait to see if the boy was clean enough to be touched. He ran.

He threw his arms around him while he was still covered in the filth of the road. The embrace came before the apology.

The touch came before the change. The light is not afraid of your brokenness.

It knows that the flinch is just fear, and fear is not the final word. Tonight, you do not have to earn the right to be held.

The hand that holds the universe is already open, waiting for yours to stop shaking and simply rest in it.