The Light Runs Toward Your Debt

The day is ending, and the drawer is where you hide the things you cannot face. You slide the unpaid bills inside, hoping no one sees the stack, hoping the shame stays quiet.

But the light does not need you to perform okayness. It waits for you to stop moving.

There is a father who saw his son coming home from a long way off — and before the apology, before the speech, he ran. The light runs toward the debt you cannot pay.

It runs toward the fear that someone will find out. Mercy, peace, and love are yours in abundance — not when the drawer is empty, but right now, while it is still full.

You do not have to hold the weight alone tonight. The light is already inside the room, waiting for you to exhale.