The Light Stays In The Mess

The afternoon light is unforgiving. It does not hide the dust on the shelves or the cracks in the wall.

It just shows them. And when someone finally walks close enough to see the mess inside you—the clutter you've been trying to sweep under the rug for years—the panic rises.

Your instinct is to push them away. To slam the door before they can turn around and choose to leave.

You think you are protecting them from your chaos. But the light does not flinch at the disorder.

There was a woman who had been bleeding for twelve years, untouchable, convinced her condition made her dangerous to everyone she brushed against. She reached out anyway, trembling, expecting to be rebuked.

Instead, the light stopped the entire crowd to find her. It did not ask her to clean up first.

It called her daughter. The light sees the mess and does not run.

It stays. You do not have to hide the broken pieces to be loved.

The very thing you fear they will see is the place where they will meet you.