The Light Sitting With You In Dark

It is three in the morning, and the room is quiet enough to hear the loop start again. You are rehearsing the conversation where you finally say it out loud—the thing you did, the thing you hid, the thing that makes you feel like you are losing your mind.

You play the scene over and over, waiting for the moment they admit what happened so you can stop feeling crazy. But the silence in the room does not break.

The answer does not come. In the deepest hour, the light does not give you the script you are begging for.

It simply sits with you in the dark, holding the truth you are too afraid to speak. The truth was there before the silence, and it will be there after the sun rises.

You do not need their voice to validate your reality. The light inside you already knows exactly what happened.