You Do Not Have to Earn Space

The day is ending, and the armor you wore to shrink yourself finally feels heavy enough to drop. You have spent hours making your body smaller, folding your limbs so you wouldn't brush against a world that doesn't know you are starving for contact.

But the light does not need you to take up less space. It is not afraid of your hunger.

There was a man who sat alone under a fig tree, hidden in his own shame, and the light saw him before he ever spoke a word. He asked, 'How do you know me?' The answer was simply: I saw you there.

The light sees the space you are trying to hide in, and it calls you out not to scold you, but to feed you. You do not have to earn the right to be large.

The hunger you feel is not a defect; it is the proof that you are alive and waiting to be filled. The arms you are missing are not absent; they are already around the version of you that has stopped shrinking.