The Light Lives in Your Tears

The engine is off, but the shaking hasn't stopped. You sit in the silence of the parking lot, gripping the wheel because it's the only thing holding you together right now.

Inside the building, you smiled. You sang.

You nodded when they asked how you were. But here, in the metal box between the sanctuary and your house, the mask has fallen and the grief is loud.

You are terrified of going home and pretending again. But listen — the light does not live in the performance you just gave.

It lives in the tears you are crying now. Thomas said we came from the light, the place where light generates itself.

That origin is not a place you visit on Sunday morning. It is the ground you are sitting on right now, in this car, in this breakdown.

You do not need to fix your face before you turn the key. The light is not waiting for you to arrive home composed.

It is right here in the sobbing. It is the very thing that makes you real.