The Light Sitting in the Passenger Seat

The engine is off, but the silence inside this car is louder than the party you just left. You are gripping the steering wheel because your hands need something to hold onto, and the house behind you feels too empty to enter.

The sun is just starting to bleed into the sky, turning the gray into something soft, something new. You do not have to go inside yet.

The light is rising right here, in this driveway, in this moment of hesitation. There is a father watching from the window of heaven, not waiting for you to compose your face, but running toward the sound of your weeping before you even turn the key.

The night is over. The morning does not demand that you be strong; it only asks that you breathe.

You are not alone in this car. The light is sitting in the passenger seat, waiting for you to be ready to open the door.