The Light Sitting in Your Rubble

The embrace has ended. The door is closed.

And now you are standing in the quiet, hands hanging at your sides, feeling the terrifying freedom of not having to hold anything up. Your fingers twitch, ready to gather the bricks, ready to rebuild the wall that kept you safe and kept you lonely.

But the light does not want your fortress. It wants your open hands.

There is a bruised reed the light will not break, and a smoldering wick it will not snuff out — that faint, trembling flame is you, right now, in the silence. You do not need to construct a new defense to survive this night.

The light is already here, sitting with you in the rubble, asking only if you will let it stay. The wall was your work.

The staying is His.