The Light Holds You While You Shake

The day is ending, and the armor you wore to survive it feels fused to your skin. Now, even a gentle hand from someone who loves you feels like a threat, because your body remembers the impact before your mind can speak.

You flinch not because you are broken, but because your flesh is keeping watch over old wounds. But listen — the light that lives inside you is not afraid of your trembling.

It does not demand that you stop shaking before it draws near. It sits beside you in the quiet, waiting for your nervous system to learn a new rhythm.

The touch you fear cannot extinguish the fire that burns within you. You are safe here, even while you flinch.

The light is not waiting for you to be still; it is holding you while you shake.