You Do Not Have to Earn Breath

The day is closing its hands, and you are already apologizing for taking up space. The words form on your tongue before the air even gets heavy—a reflex born from walking on eggshells in your own life.

You say 'I'm sorry' not because you failed, but because you are afraid of the silence that follows a mistake. But listen—the light does not flinch when you stumble.

It did not come to watch you perform perfection. It came to dwell in the mess.

There is a love that does not require you to shrink. A love that sees your trembling and calls it human, not hopeless.

You do not have to earn the right to breathe tonight. The darkness is gathering, yes, but so is the One who knows your name and loves you without conditions.