The Light Does Not Flinch From Your Damage

It is three in the morning, and the silence feels like an accusation. You are certain that if they saw the full depth of your damage, they would turn and walk away immediately.

That the truth of you is too heavy, too broken, too much to bear. But listen — the light does not flinch.

It saw Nathaniel under the fig tree before he ever spoke a word, and it loved him anyway. It knows the shadowed rooms you keep locked, and it has not left.

What you call damage, the light calls the very place where it shines brightest. You are not hiding a secret that will drive it off.

You are standing in the open, fully known, and fully held. The dawn is coming, and it will not change a thing about how you are loved.