You Are a Drop from the Light

The afternoon asks for a title, and you feel the hollow ache of having nothing to claim. You rehearse a confident answer, but the words taste like dust in your mouth.

The world sees your output, your labor, the things you produce to prove you belong here. But the light does not ask what you do.

It only asks who you are. There is a worth that exists before the first task and remains after the last one is finished.

You are not a function. You are a drop from the light, sent to illuminate simply by being present.

The kingdom is not built on your résumé. It is spread out upon the earth, hidden in plain sight, waiting for you to stop performing and start seeing.

The light is not impressed by your title. It is resting in your silence.