The Verdict Is Not Yours To Write

The day is ending, and the silence of the room has turned into a courtroom where you are both the accused and the judge. You keep replaying the exact moment your voice trembled, convinced that the crack in your tone was the sound of them deciding you were too broken to keep.

But listen — the light does not measure your worth by the steadiness of your voice. There is a love that knows the tremor before you even speak it, a love that saw the wound long before it made a sound.

You are not being kept because you are perfect; you are being kept because you are loved. The verdict you are writing in the dark is not the final one.

The One who holds you does not flinch at your shaking.