You Are a Child to Be Held

The clock on the wall became a judge tonight. You replayed the exact second their eyes flicked to it—a split second of impatience that you have now stretched into a verdict on your entire worth.

In the silence of this watch, that moment loops like a broken record, convincing you that you are too much trouble, too slow, too heavy to be loved. But listen.

The light does not keep time the way the world does. It does not measure your value in seconds or efficiency or how long you can hold someone's attention before they look away.

There is a love that is not in a hurry. A love that sat with friends in the middle of the night, not checking a watch, but washing feet in the dark.

That same patience lives inside you now. It was there before the glance, and it remains after the shame.

The clock says you are running out of time. The light says you are exactly where you need to be.

You are not a burden to be timed. You are a child to be held.