Light Waiting in the Dust

The afternoon light is flat, exposing the dust on the screen and the hollow in your chest. You scroll back, hunting for proof that they smiled after you left, then slam the app shut when the silence feels like a witness.

But the light does not need your evidence to know the truth of your heart. It sees the scrolling and the shutting with the same steady gaze.

You came from the light, a drop sent to illuminate this very moment of ache. Split the wood of this ordinary hour; the light is there, underneath the splinters.

Lift the stone of your shame; the light is there, waiting in the dust. You are not defined by the photos you hide or the joy you suspect in others.

The kingdom is spread out upon the earth, even here in the middle of your envy, and you do not see it because you are looking at a screen.