The Light Sitting in Your Brokenness

The door clicks shut and the silence rushes in to fill the space where other people used to be. It is loud, this quiet—the noise of every unaddressed pain you have been running from all day finally rising to the surface.

You sit there in the dim light, terrified that if you stop moving, the weight will crush you. But you do not have to fix it tonight.

You do not have to solve the ache before you are allowed to rest. The light is not asking you to be whole; it is simply sitting with you in the brokenness.

It came for the sick, not the well, and it is here now in the quiet of your room. The noise you hear is not the absence of love; it is the sound of your own heart waking up to the truth that has been there all along.

You are not alone in the dark; the light is the very air you are breathing.