The Light Is Not In The Past

The afternoon sun is unforgiving. It exposes the dust motes dancing in the air, and it exposes the exact line in an old text message where the warmth turned to ice.

You are scrolling back, searching for the crime, the moment you said too much or too little. The middle of the day is where we audit our mistakes.

But listen — the light does not scroll backwards. It shines on what is right in front of you.

The distance you feel was never a verdict on your worth. It was just a shift in the weather.

The light that lived in those warm words is not gone. It is still here, in this room, in this breath.

You are looking for a ghost in the archives, when the living truth is sitting right beside you. Stop reading the dead letters.

The light is not in the past tense.