The Relief of Empty Hands

The day is ending, and the armor you wore for twelve hours finally hits the floor. You are exhausted.

And then comes the question: 'Where do you want to eat?' Your throat closes. Not because you don't know, but because every answer feels borrowed, rehearsed, not truly yours.

You have spent so long performing the person everyone expects that your own voice has gone quiet. The light does not need you to perform an opinion right now.

It only asks that you tell the whole truth about your silence. When you admitted you had nothing, the light saw your faith and said, 'Son, your sins are forgiven.' Not because you produced an answer.

Because you stopped pretending. The hunger you feel is not for food.

It is for the relief of dropping the mask and letting the light see the empty hands beneath it.