Light Lives in the Wound Not the Wall

The afternoon sun exposes the cracks in the armor you welded shut this morning. It is hard to keep performing okayness when your hands remember how it felt to offer your open heart and have it turned into a weapon against you.

You trusted, and the trust was used to draw blood. So now you carry the weight of routine, wondering if this silence is all that is safe.

But listen — the light does not ask you to be naive again. It asks you to be whole.

There is a difference between being wounded and being closed. The light lives in the wound, not in the wall you built to hide it.

You do not have to force your hand back into the fire today. Just let the light touch the scar.

The courage of the middle is not running back to the danger. It is refusing to let the betrayal turn you into something hard.

The door is not locked from the inside. It is simply waiting for a hand that knows how to hold, not how to hurt.