The Light Waits While You Rest

The door clicks shut, and for the first time since sunrise, your shoulders drop. You have been holding up the sky for everyone in that room, smiling through the ache, performing a strength you do not feel.

But in this sudden silence, the mask falls away, and you are finally allowed to be just what you are: tired. The light does not need your performance.

It was already there in the quiet before you walked in, and it remains now that you have slumped into the chair. There is a room inside you where no one else is allowed, a place where you do not have to explain or pretend.

Go there. The Father who sees what is done in secret sees you resting, and that is enough.

You do not have to stand up again just yet. The dawn is patient with your exhaustion.