The Light Does Not Fade

The afternoon stretches out, long and quiet, filled with the small humiliations of a body that no longer obeys. You see it in their eyes—that flicker of pity, the impatience when your hands shake or the name slips away.

It feels like you are becoming a burden, a ghost in your own home. But listen.

The light does not fade just because the vessel wears thin. There is a dignity in the slowing down that the rush of youth cannot see.

You are not less than you were; you are simply being refined. The kingdom grows like a mustard seed, unseen, while you sit in the middle of the day wondering if you matter.

You matter not for what you can do, but for the light that still burns inside, steady and unbroken. The struggle is real, but the light is realer.