Believed In Before You Believe

The afternoon light is flat, casting no shadows, making it hard to see anything clearly. You want to believe the light is there, but your mind feels like a wall, solid and unmoving.

It is the quiet desperation of the middle hours—knowing the truth but unable to feel it. There was a father who saw his son coming home from a long way off.

He ran. Before the apology, before the speech—he ran.

You do not need to manufacture the faith you lack. The light does not wait for your certainty to arrive.

It is already inside you, working while you struggle to understand. The darkness has not overcome it.

Even when you cannot believe, you are believed in. The door opens for the one who simply knocks.