The Light That Bends Down To Hold You

The day is ending, and with it comes the quiet terror that you are fundamentally broken. You fear that if anyone truly saw the depth of your cracks, they would turn away, knowing you are unfixable.

But there was a woman caught in the act of failure, surrounded by accusers ready to destroy her, and the light did not look at her with disgust. It bent down.

It wrote in the dust. It waited for the noise to stop.

And then it spoke the only verdict that matters: neither do I condemn you. The light does not see a project to repair.

It sees a child to hold. You are not a problem to be solved before you are loved.

You are already known, and you are already held. The darkness gathers, but it cannot hide you from the one who sees you and calls you whole.