The Light Inside Your Scars

The afternoon sun hits the glass of your office, and you adjust your sleeve again to hide the line on your wrist. You walk through the middle of the day carrying a story no one is allowed to hear.

A history written in scars that you cover with long sleeves and polite smiles. But the light does not flinch from what is broken.

It shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it. That light is already inside the scar tissue itself.

Waiting. There is a name the light has for you that no one else knows.

A secret identity written on a white stone, known only to the one who receives it. The world sees the damage.

The light sees the person beneath it. You do not have to explain the wound to be held by the hand that bears marks of its own.

The scar is not the end of your story. It is the place where the light got in.