The Light Sees Your Trembling Hands

The afternoon sun exposes the dust motes dancing in the air, and it exposes the performance you are putting on right now. You are smiling too wide, saying thank you too loudly, terrified that if you stop performing gratitude, they will finally see the emptiness and leave.

You think your thanks is a cage you built to keep them from walking away. But look at the one sitting across from you — the light sees the tremor in your hands.

It saw Peter, too, standing on the beach with a heart full of denial and a fire he couldn't hide. The light did not ask for a speech.

It did not demand a promise. It simply asked: do you love me?

Not 'are you grateful enough?' Not 'will you stay?' Just: do you love me? Three times.

To undo the three times Peter pretended he didn't know him. Your gratitude does not have to be perfect to be real.

It just has to be honest. The light is not afraid of your silence.

It is not afraid of your fear. It is only asking for the truth you are hiding behind the smile.

You are not loved because you perform. You are loved because you are here.