You Do Not Have to Finish

The afternoon stretches out, long and gray, filled with conversations you rehearse but never speak. You build the perfect sentence in your mind, polishing the explanation until the moment passes, and you say nothing at all.

The silence grows heavy because you think you must perform worthiness before you can open your mouth. But the light does not wait for a flawless speech to enter the room.

It is already there, in the middle of your hesitation, in the unsaid words, in the quiet ache of holding it all inside. There is nothing concealed that will not be made known, not because you finally explained it, but because the light itself is the revealing.

You do not have to finish the sentence to be held.