The Sun Has Never Moved
The afternoon light is flat and heavy, pressing against the screen where you are searching for the exact moment the tone shifted. You scroll back through months of words, hunting for the sentence that broke the spell, staring until your eyes burn and the letters blur into gray static.
But the light was not in those messages, and it did not leave when the words changed. It is in you now, steady and unmoving, while your thumb keeps scrolling through a past that cannot hold it.
You are looking for the sun in a shadow, but the sun has never moved. The sentence you are staring at is just ink; it does not have the power to extinguish what lives inside your chest.
Drawing from
Matthew 6:22-23, Mark 5:19
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