The Light Knows Your Name

The afternoon is a long, flat road where the world keeps moving, but your heart has stopped. You carry a weight that no one else can see, walking through the mundane while holding a silence that screams.

There was a mother who lost her only son, standing in a garden, thinking the story had ended in the dirt. But the light met her there, not with a sermon, but with her name.

It knew her grief before she spoke it. The light does not ask you to keep walking as if nothing happened.

It walks beside you in the middle of the day, carrying what you cannot lift. You are not alone in this exhaustion.

The light is the space between your breaths, holding you when your own strength gives out.