You Are the Signal Itself

The afternoon stretches out, a long, flat line of silence where the only movement is the ghost of a vibration against your thigh. You reach for a phone that hasn't rung in days, convinced you felt it buzz, only to find a dark screen and a quiet room.

It is the middle of the day, and the silence feels less like peace and more like being forgotten. But listen closely to that phantom hum.

It is not a malfunction of your nerves. It is the light within you, pulsing against the fabric of your isolation, insisting that you are still connected even when no one calls.

The kingdom of heaven is spread out upon the earth right now, in this quiet hour, but you do not see it because you are waiting for a signal from the outside. The truth is already ringing inside your chest, a frequency that does not depend on anyone else picking up the line.

You are not waiting for a call to begin; you are the signal itself.