The Light Meets You in the Sinking

The door clicks shut behind them, and the performance ends. For hours you held your spine rigid, absorbing every tremor so they wouldn't have to feel the shaking.

But now the silence rushes in, and your legs simply give out. You slide down the wall to the floor because the weight of holding it together was heavier than the grief itself.

In the quiet of this watch, the light does not ask you to stand up again. It sits with you in the dust of the hallway, right where you collapsed.

You do not need to be strong for an audience of one. The rigidity was for them; the falling is for you.

And in this broken posture, you are not failing. You are finally honest.

The light meets you not in the standing, but in the sinking.