The Light Does Not Flinch From You

Morning light hits the window and you put on the mask that says you are fine. But inside, your hand reaches out in the dark, then pulls back before it can touch them.

You are afraid they will flinch. Afraid your need will be too much.

Afraid the contact will break something that is already fragile. But listen — the light does not flinch.

When the woman caught in everything she had done wrong was dragged into the center of the crowd, the light did not pull away. He bent down.

He wrote in the dust. He waited for the accusers to leave.

And when he stood up, he asked: 'Has no one condemned you?' When she said no, he said: 'Neither do I condemn you.' The hand that could have pointed in judgment instead offered release. Your hand is safe.

The light knows your trembling and does not recoil from it. Reach out again.

The flinch you fear is not waiting on the other side.