The Father Runs Before You Speak

It is late, and the house is quiet enough to hear the argument you are having with someone who isn't there. You are rehearsing the words you need to say, but you stop every time because you are terrified your voice will shake.

You are afraid that if you speak, the tremor will give away how much you are disappearing. But listen — the light does not require a steady voice to hear you.

There is a father who saw his son coming home from a long way off, still rehearsing a speech about how unworthy he was. Before the son could finish a single sentence, before his voice could break or fail, the father ran.

He ran to meet the shaking. He ran to meet the fear.

The embrace came before the apology. The light is already running toward the part of you that is afraid to speak.

You do not have to be strong to be found. You do not have to be steady to be held.

The trembling is not a sign that you are lost; it is the sound of the light finding you in the dark.