He Runs to the Mess

The car door closes, and the mask slips back into place before you walk inside. But the question comes anyway: 'Why were you crying?' You want to say it was nothing.

You want to protect them from the dark. But the light does not ask you to hide your tears.

There is a father who saw his son coming home from a long way off — before the apology, before the speech, he ran. He did not wait for the dirt to be washed off.

He ran to the mess. Your grief is not a failure of faith; it is the place where the light meets you most tenderly.

The love inside you is not threatened by your sorrow. It holds it.

You are not broken because you wept. You are human.

And the light is weeping with you.