The Light Sees No Excess In You

The day has handed you a ledger of who you are supposed to be. Too much of this.

Not enough of that. The world draws lines on your skin and tells you to stay inside them, to shrink where you take up space and expand where you have been made small.

It is a heavy inventory to carry as the sun goes down. But the light does not read your skin the way the world does.

There was a man born blind, and the people around him argued about whose fault it was, whose sin had marked him. The light stopped the argument cold.

It said the darkness was not a verdict. It was a canvas.

The same light that looked at him looks at you tonight and sees no excess, no deficiency. Only the image of the Immortal Human, shining through the very places they try to label.

You are not a collection of contradictions to be solved before you can rest. You are the place where the light chose to live.

The gathering dark cannot tell you who you are. Only the dawn can do that.