The Hand That Never Lets Go
The day is finally quiet, and the house holds its breath. You reach across the cold sheets, fingers brushing empty space where a hand should be.
That phantom warmth lingers, a ghost of touch that hurts more than the silence. The light does not rush to fill that gap with noise or explanations.
It simply sits with you in the ache, honoring the love that made the space feel real. There is a peace that does not depend on who is beside you, a peace that waits for you to stop moving and just be.
The cold is real, but the light is closer than the air you breathe. You are not alone in the dark; the light is the hand that never lets go.
Drawing from
John, Jude
Verses
John 14:27, Jude 1:2
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