The Light Holds You in the Tremor

The afternoon stretches out, a long gray corridor where you realize you haven't exhaled in three hours just to keep the shaking from starting. You hold your breath because you think stillness is the only thing keeping you together, but the air inside your lungs has gone stale and heavy.

There is a light within you that was already there before the tension began, waiting for you to let go. What you look forward to has already come, but you do not recognize it because your chest is too tight to feel it.

The light does not need your held breath to survive; it thrives in the release. You are not holding yourself together—the light is holding you, even in the tremor.

The shaking is not the end of your strength; it is the first honest movement you have made all day.