The Light Does Not Keep A Ledger

The ceiling is white. The clock is loud.

And you have decided that sleep is a reward you haven't earned yet. You are lying there, staring into the dark, convincing yourself that this exhaustion is a form of penance.

That if you just stay awake long enough, you can pay back the day you failed to finish. But the light does not keep a ledger.

It does not require your fatigue as a sacrifice. There was a woman once who stood behind the light, weeping so hard her tears fell on his feet.

She had nothing to offer but her grief and a jar of expensive perfume she broke open in front of everyone. She didn't try to fix her past.

She just poured out what she had. And the light said her many sins were forgiven because she loved much.

Not because she earned it. Because she loved.

You are trying to earn rest through suffering. But the light is saying: stop.

The day is done. The debt is canceled.

You do not have to stay awake to prove you care. Close your eyes.

The light is watching the road for you tonight.