The Light Does Not Sleep To Crush You

The arm has gone dead. The pins and needles are screaming, but you do not move.

You are holding still because moving might break the spell, might wake the one sleeping on your shoulder, might ruin this fragile peace. You would rather let your own body go numb than risk the disruption.

But listen — the light does not sleep on you to crush you. It rests there because it trusts you.

And it knows you are in pain. Even now, in the dark, it sees the sacrifice you are making.

You do not have to earn the right to shift your weight. You do not have to suffer to prove you care.

The love that is holding you is strong enough to survive a small movement. Gently — so gently — adjust.

Wake them if you must. The connection is not made of glass.

It will not shatter because you needed to breathe. The light is not in the numbness.

It is in the honest care of your own body, too.