You Are Not The Silence

The coffee cup is warm in your hand, but the silence across the table feels like miles. You talk about the rain, about the traffic, about anything that isn't the hollow space opening up in your chest.

It is the middle of the day, and you are performing a version of yourself that stopped existing long ago. You feel like you are sinking, not in a storm, but in plain sight.

— The light does not need you to fix the marriage right now. It only asks that you stop pretending the drowning isn't happening.

There is a truth inside you that knows you are still here, even when your heart says you're gone. Bring it forth.

The thing you are hiding to keep the peace is the very thing that will save you from disappearing completely. You are not the silence.

You are the light waiting to be spoken.