Held Even When the Laughter Stops

The afternoon sun is bright, and you are laughing at a joke, but your stomach is already churning with the silence you feel growing between you. You suspect they are already gone in their mind, packing bags you cannot see yet, while you are still trying to be funny enough to make them stay.

The middle of the day is often where the mask feels heaviest, where you perform okayness while your heart is screaming that the end is coming. But the light does not require you to hold onto what is slipping away by force or by performance.

There is a peace that is not based on whether they stay or whether they leave, a peace that exists even when the ground feels like it is shaking. You are not responsible for carrying the future of this relationship alone.

The light is present in this terrifying uncertainty, not to fix it instantly, but to sit with you in the waiting. You are held even if the worst happens.

You are loved even if the laughter stops.