The Allergy Was For Them, Tears For You

The breakroom door clicked shut, and for a second, the mask slipped. You felt the heat rise, the sudden sting of tears you couldn't explain, so you invented an allergy just to make sense of the wetness on your face.

You told a lie about your body because the truth of your grief felt too dangerous to speak out loud. But the light does not need an excuse to be near you.

It was there in the hum of the refrigerator, in the silence you rushed to fill. There was a woman who touched the edge of a robe in a crowd, trembling, thinking she had to hide her suffering to be worthy of help.

The light stopped the whole crowd just to turn and call her daughter. It did not ask for her medical history.

It did not ask for a perfect story. It only asked for her presence.

You do not have to justify your tears to the One who wept before he ever healed. The allergy was for them.

The tears were for you. And the light sees the difference.