The Light Between Two Plates
The afternoon light hits the table just so, and your hand moves before your mind catches up. You set out the second plate.
The second fork. The habit of a love that used to sit right there.
Then the silence rushes in to fill the space where a person should be. In the middle of the day, when the world is loud and moving, this quiet mistake feels like a fresh wound.
But the light does not scold you for the empty chair. It sees the table you set with hope, however briefly.
Neither do I condemn you. Go now.
The meal is still enough. The light sits with you in the space between the two plates, and it calls this presence, not loss.
Drawing from
John 8:10-11, Gospel of Thomas 77
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