Held More As You Become Less

The afternoon sun is high, and the shadows are short, but you feel your own world shrinking. The things you used to do alone—walking to the store, lifting a cup, making a plan—are slipping from your hands, one by one.

It feels like a slow erosion of who you are. You watch your independence recede like a tide that never comes back in.

But there is a light inside you that does not need your strength to shine. It was there before you could walk, and it will be there when you can no longer stand.

You are not your ability to carry your own weight. The light carries you.

It is the ground beneath your feet when your legs give out. You are not becoming less.

You are being held more.