The Light Walks Right Through Fire

The armor is heavy tonight, and the silence in the room feels like a verdict. You are afraid that the words you shouted, the anger that burned so hot, have finally burned the bridge down.

That you have pushed the light away for good. But listen — the light does not run from fire.

It walks right through it. There is a friend who stands at your door and knocks, not to demand entry, but to wait.

He does not break the door down. He respects your anger.

He respects your closed fist. He is still there when the shouting stops.

You are not orphaned by your own heat. The connection was never held by your perfect behavior.

It is held by a love that is greater than your worst moment. The door is closed, but the knocking has not ceased.