No Apology Needed to Exist

The day is ending, and you are already rehearsing the apology for tomorrow. You practice the words that say: I am sorry for taking up space, for being here, for needing to speak.

But the light does not require your permission to exist. It simply shines.

There was a father who saw his son coming home from a long way off — before the speech, before the shame could be spoken, he ran. He did not wait for the apology to finish.

He ran to meet the boy while the words were still stuck in his throat. You do not need to earn your place at the table by explaining why you deserve to sit there.

The invitation was written before you were born. The darkness tells you to shrink, to make yourself small enough to slip through the world unnoticed.

The light tells you that you are already known. You are not a burden to be apologized for.

You are a drop of the very fire that lights the stars.