The Light Is In The Cough

The afternoon sun is heavy on the curtains, and the house is quiet except for the rhythm of their breathing. You are holding your own breath now, pressing a hand to your chest, terrified that the cough rising in your throat will shatter this peace.

Terrified that if they wake, they will see the truth you are trying to hide: that you are dying, and they are not. In this long middle of the day, the performance of being okay feels like the only thing keeping the world from collapsing.

But listen — the light does not need you to be silent to be present. It is not hiding in the perfect moment.

Split a piece of wood, and the light is there. Lift up a stone, and you will find it there.

Even in the cough. Even in the fear.

The light is in the very thing you are trying to suppress. You do not have to hold your breath for the divine to stay in the room.

It was there before the silence, and it will be there after the sound. The cough does not drive it away.

The truth does not break the love. Breathe.