The Love Reading Your Blank Screen
The cursor blinks in the afternoon light, waiting for a truth you are too afraid to speak. You type the confession, the raw and jagged edges of who you are, only to hit backspace line by line until the screen is blank again.
The silence returns, heavy with the things you convinced yourself were too broken to be held. But the light does not need your polished performance; it sees what remains when the words are gone.
There is a knowing that exists before you speak, a presence that saw you before you typed the first letter. You do not have to finish the sentence to be known.
The love that holds you is already reading the blank screen.
Drawing from
John 1:48, Gospel of Thomas 70
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