The Light That Survives The Ruins

The clock says four. The house is silent, but your mind is screaming that one sentence over and over.

You see their face falling. You hear the silence that followed.

And you are convinced you just burned the only safe place you had. In this hour, the past feels like a prison with no door.

But listen — the light does not run from the wreckage you made. It sits in the ashes with you.

There is a love that is greater than your worst moment, greater than the look on their face, greater than the fear that you are now unlovable. You did not destroy the safe place, because the light was already inside you before you spoke, and it is still there now that you have broken.

The darkness cannot extinguish what lives in the ruins. You are not your mistake.

You are the light that survives it.