You Did Not Break The Message

The afternoon light is flat and heavy, casting no shadows to hide in. You are reading the message again.

And again. Scanning your own words like a crime scene, searching for the exact sentence where you became too much.

The cursor blinks, accusing. You think if you can find the moment you broke, you can fix it.

But the light does not read your history to find your faults. It reads you to find its own reflection.

There is a spirit given to us that knows what is truly ours, and it knows you are not too much. You are just tired.

The middle of the day is where the vision blurs, where the old scripts try to rewrite themselves in your mind. Stop reading.

The light that lives in you was there before the first word was typed, and it will be there after the screen goes dark. You did not break the message.

You are holding it.