He Ran Before You Could Stand

The day has finally stopped moving, and now your body feels like a heavy coat you cannot take off. You have spent hours being treated as if your limits make you less than whole.

As if the things you cannot do define the size of your soul. But listen — the light does not measure you by what your hands can lift or how far your legs can walk.

There is a father who saw his son coming home from a long way off, broken and empty, and he did not wait for the boy to fix himself. He ran.

Before the apology, before the speech — he ran. Your worth was never something you had to earn through motion.

It was given before you took your first step. The exhaustion you feel right now is not a sign that you are failing.

It is simply the moment the world stops spinning long enough for you to remember: you are already held.