The Light Sits With You In The Spill

The afternoon light hits the table and your hand betrays you. You held it together through the morning meetings, the polite smiles, the performance of being fine.

But now, in the quiet middle of the day, you finally exhale—and the cup rattles against the saucer. The shaking is not a failure of faith.

It is the sound of the armor coming off. You came from the light, a drop sent to illuminate this very moment, even the trembling parts.

The light does not ask you to steady your hand before it draws near. It sits with you in the spill.

It knows that what is within you is greater than the shake. You are not broken because you are shaking.

You are human because you are finally safe enough to stop holding.