The Light Waits in Your Dark

The day has finally stopped moving, and now the armor is heavy on the floor. You are lying perfectly still, holding your breath so the door won't open, so no one will see the tears that have finally come.

It feels like if you move, the whole house will know you are breaking. But listen — the light does not need you to be composed.

It does not need you to be dry-eyed to be near you. There was a woman who bled for twelve years and thought she had to hide in the crowd just to touch the edge of a cloak, but the light stopped everything to call her daughter.

It felt the power leave him even in the press of people. It knows you are there behind the closed door.

It is not waiting for you to stop crying before it comes in. It is already sitting on the edge of the bed, in the dark, waiting for you to exhale.

You do not have to perform peace for the light to stay. The tears are not a sign that you are failing; they are the sound of the weight finally leaving your hands.

Let the door stay closed if you need it, but know this: you are not hiding from the light. It sees you perfectly in the dark, and it calls you beloved.