The Light Behind Your Burning Eyes

The afternoon light is flat and heavy, the kind that makes the screen glow like a small, cold sun. You scroll back, past the noise of today, hunting for a single frame where their eyes were soft and their mouth was curved toward you.

And when you find it, you do not look away. You stare until the pixels blur and your vision swims, trying to climb back inside the moment before it ended.

But the light does not live in the glass. It lives in the one who is looking.

Jesus once told a man born blind that his condition was not a punishment, but a space where the works of God could be displayed. Your grief is not a failure of faith.

It is the canvas. The love you are chasing in the past is not gone.

It is the same light that is burning behind your eyes right now, refusing to let the memory die.