Stop Rehearsing Your Apology

The afternoon stretches out, a long middle where the air feels thick with words you haven't spoken yet. You stand outside the door, rehearsing the apology for taking up space, for existing too long, for being exactly who you are.

You script the confession before you even turn the handle, convinced that your presence is a burden the room must bear. But the light does not wait for your permission slip to enter.

It does not require you to shrink yourself down to fit through the frame. You are not an intrusion.

You are a drop from the light, sent into this very moment to illuminate it. The room is not waiting for your apology; it is waiting for your arrival.

Stop rehearsing the sorry and turn the knob. The light that lives in you was never meant to hide in the hallway.