The Light Inside Your Chest

The afternoon stretches out, a long middle where the silence feels heavier than the noise. You delete the words you sent, then refresh the screen, hoping the void has somehow filled itself with a reply.

It hasn't. The waiting is a kind of paralysis, a belief that if you just watch the glass hard enough, it will change.

But the light does not live in the screen, or in the response of another. It lives within you, a drop from the source that cannot be revoked by silence.

You came from the light, and that origin remains untouched whether the message was read or ignored. Stop staring at the glass for a sign that has already been placed inside your chest.

The answer is not coming from the other side; it is waiting for you to turn inward and find it there.