Light Sitting With You on the Floor

The day is done, and the mask you wore for twelve hours is finally heavy enough to drop. You locked the door, said you were fine, and now you are on the floor where no one can see the crack in the armor.

This is the exhale — the moment the performance ends and the real weight arrives. But listen — the light does not need you to stand up to be with you.

It is already sitting on the tile, in the dark, in the silence you thought was empty. The Good came into your midst to restore you to your root, and your root is not the composure you showed the world today.

Your root is the light that lives inside you even when you are falling apart. You do not have to clean up the tears before the light enters.

It is already here, in the sobbing, in the exhaustion, in the honest collapse of someone who tried so hard to be okay. The struggle is real, but so is the presence that refuses to leave you on the bathroom floor.