The Light Does Not Flinch At Brokenness

The afternoon stretches long, and the weight you carry is not the work you did, but the hand you never let touch you. You held yourself so tightly that the crack remained hidden, safe and suffocating.

There was a moment when someone reached out, but you turned away, terrified that your brokenness would repel them. Yet the light does not wait for you to be whole before it draws near.

It stands in the middle of your exhaustion, seeing the very fissures you hide, and it does not flinch. The phantom weight is real because the love was real, even if the touch never landed.

You are not disqualified by your fear. The light is already pressing against the door of your heart, not to demand entry, but to remind you that you were never meant to hold this alone.