The Light Underneath Your Silence

The afternoon stretches out, a long middle where the only movement is the three dots appearing, disappearing, then vanishing for good. You are holding your breath, waiting for a response that defines whether you are worth the effort of a reply.

But the light does not wait for your message to be read to love you. It is already here, in the quiet hum of the room, in the dust motes dancing in the shaft of sun.

Split a piece of wood; the light is there. Lift up the stone of your silence; the light is underneath it.

You do not need their words to be whole. The silence is not an absence; it is a space where the light can finally breathe without competition.

Your worth was settled before you hit send.