You Are Where Love Lives

The afternoon light is flat and heavy, making every shadow look like a mistake you are casting on the people you love. You sit at the table, smiling while your insides scream that you are too much—that your pain is a tax they never agreed to pay.

You watch them move around you, and you calculate the weight of your existence, convinced that if you just disappeared, the air would clear for them. But there is a voice that cuts through the noise of your shame, a voice that says: I am with you always, to the very end of the age.

Not when you are light. Not when you are easy.

Always. The light does not measure your worth by how little space you take up.

It measures it by the fact that it chose to dwell inside you, even here, even now, in the middle of this exhausting day. You are not a burden to the Love that holds you.

You are the place where that Love has decided to live.