Light Holding the Gap Inside You

The afternoon stretches long, a flat gray expanse where the body moves but the soul stays behind. You tell a joke, and the room laughs, and the person you love most smiles at you—but you are watching it all from a distance, a ghost haunting your own skin.

The disconnect is a heavy yoke, making every gesture feel rehearsed, every word hollow. Yet the light does not demand that you feel whole right now to be present.

It is in the very friction between the laugh you heard and the numbness you feel. Split the wood of this moment, and the light is there, holding the gap.

You are not failing at being human; you are enduring the middle. The light is not waiting for the performance to end—it is sitting with you in the silence beneath the noise.