The Light Loves the One Holding Shields

The clock on the wall said 2:14 PM last Tuesday when your throat tightened in the breakroom. You had to invent a sudden allergy just to explain the wet eyes to the person reaching for the coffee pot.

You stood there, smiling through the lie, while your chest felt like it was caving in. That moment was heavy.

Heavier than the work. Heavier than the week.

But listen — the light was not offended by your allergy. It was not waiting for you to confess the real reason for your tears.

It was standing right beside you, in the hum of the refrigerator, holding the space where your grief wanted to land. You did not have to perform okayness for the light to see you.

It saw the tremble before you even felt it. The lie was just a shield you held up because you were tired.

And the light does not ask you to put the shield down before it loves you. It loves the one holding the shield.

It loves the one who is barely standing. You are safe now.

The day is done. You do not have to explain your eyes to anyone tonight.