He Ran Before You Spoke

The day is ending, and the silence of the room feels like a verdict. You look at the empty space beside you and wonder if the problem is not the night, but you.

If you are fundamentally unchosen. Unwanted.

Too broken to be kept. But listen — there was a father who saw his son coming home from a long way off.

He did not wait for the boy to clean up. He did not wait for a speech.

He ran. Before the apology, before the excuse — he ran.

That is how the light moves toward you. Not because you are perfect, but because you are his.

The fear says you are wrong. The truth says you are chosen.

You are not the one who must find the way home. You are the one being run toward.