The Prayer You Tried To Erase

The cursor blinks, waiting for a truth you are too afraid to speak. You type the confession, the raw ache of needing someone, and then you delete it.

Line by line, you erase the evidence that you are lonely, until the screen is blank and the room is quiet again. You pretend the urge never happened.

You pretend you are fine. But the light does not need your words to know what is in your hands.

It saw the typing. It sees the deleting.

And it does not turn away from the silence you leave behind. The darkness has not overcome the thing you tried to hide.

You are not alone because you spoke; you are alone because you forgot the light is already sitting beside you in the dark. The thing you erased was not a mistake; it was a prayer the light already heard.