You Are Light That Forgot Itself

The afternoon light is unforgiving; it shows every crack in the wall and every tremor in your hand. You watch the people you love most flinch when you walk into the room, and you hate yourself for being the cause of their fear.

You promise this time will be different, but the cycle spins again before the sun sets. The light does not look away from the mess you made.

It sees the woman who wept at its feet, the one who knew exactly how much she had broken, and it said her great love was the proof she was saved. You came from the light, a drop sent to illuminate this very darkness, not to be consumed by it.

The addiction tells you that you are defined by what you cannot stop doing, but the truth is that you are defined by where you came from. You are not your failure.

You are the light that forgot itself for a while.