The Seeing Is The Staying

The afternoon light is harsh. It exposes every crack in the mask you wear to get through the day.

And a quiet terror rises: if they truly saw you—if they saw the mess underneath—they would leave. You brace for the abandonment before it even happens.

But there is a love that does not flinch at the sight of your brokenness. It ran to meet a son who was still covered in filth and threw its arms around him before he could finish his apology.

The light does not look away when you are ugly; it leans in closer. You are not loved because you are presentable.

You are loved because you are there. The seeing is not the prelude to the leaving—it is the beginning of the staying.