The Light Inside the Waiting

The afternoon stretches out, long and hollow, a middle that feels like it might never end. You are watching the screen, waiting for those three dancing dots to appear, to vanish, to appear again—a silent rhythm that holds your breath hostage.

It feels like being suspended in a void, neither here nor there, just waiting for a sign that never comes. But listen—there is a light that does not depend on a message arriving.

It is already shining inside the quiet. You do not have to earn your worth by being chosen, or seen, or replied to.

The light is present in this mundane ache, in this ordinary torture of the middle. You are not defined by who is typing or who has gone silent.

You are the light that waits, steady and unbroken, regardless of the screen.