The Light Held Your Hunger Before Send

The coffee is cold, and the screen is bright, and you are staring at the words you just sent. You typed them in a moment of raw hunger, thinking you were finally being honest, and now the silence feels like a judgment.

You want to reach through the glass and unsend the truth because it looks too messy, too needy, too much like the broken thing you try to hide before noon. But listen — the light does not recoil from your hunger.

It was not surprised by what you typed. You think you revealed too much, but you only revealed what was already seen.

The mask you wear for the world is heavy, but the light has been holding it for you all along. You do not need to take the message back to be loved.

The Father saw the draft before you hit send, and he did not look away. The hunger you are ashamed of is the very place where the light lives.