Stop Practicing, You Are Already Heard

It is late, and the house is quiet enough to hear the sound of your own voice practicing a greeting no one will ever hear. You are rehearsing for a silence that has already been decided.

You speak into the void, trying to make the empty space feel like connection. But the light does not need your performance to find you.

It is already here, sitting in the dark with you, listening to the words you are too afraid to say when someone is actually on the line. There was a man born blind, and the world asked whose fault it was.

The light said: neither. It just opened his eyes.

Tonight, the light opens yours. It sees the rehearsal.

It sees the fear. And it says: stop practicing.

You are already heard. The greeting is not for the machine.

It is for you.