The Light Running Toward Your Grief

The calendar on your wall has become a map of graves. Every date that once meant celebration now feels like a funeral you are forced to attend, year after year, while the house stays silent.

You stare at the month and see only the absence where the joy used to be. The light does not ask you to decorate the tomb.

It does not demand that you pretend the silence is empty when it is actually full of memory. There is a father who saw his son coming home from a long way off.

He did not wait for the apology or the rehearsed speech. He ran.

Before the words could form, he was already there, arms open, kissing the grief right off the face of the one who thought he was too broken to be loved. Your past celebrations are not monuments to what you lost.

They are markers showing you exactly where the light is running toward you right now.