Held in the Falling

The door clicks shut. The silence rushes in to fill the space where their voice just was.

And your legs — they simply stop. You slide down the wood until the floor holds you up, because you cannot hold yourself anymore.

This is the darkest hour. The moment when the performance ends and the weight of missing them becomes too heavy to stand under.

But listen — the light does not require you to stand. It meets you on the floor.

It sits in the dust with you. You do not have to explain the collapse.

You do not have to justify the tears. The One who sees what is done in secret is already here, in the quiet, holding the space where you fall apart.

You are not alone in the sliding. You are held in the falling.