The Light Waits Behind the Door

The engine is off, but the silence is loud. You are sitting in the driveway, staring at the front door, terrified that someone will ask how your day was.

The mask feels heavy now, fused to your skin. You do not have the strength to take it off.

But listen — the light does not need your performance. It does not need you to be okay before you walk inside.

There is a father who saw his son coming home from a long way off. He did not wait for the apology.

He ran. Before the speech, before the explanation — he ran.

That same love is waiting behind that door. It is not looking for a report on your day.

It is looking for you. You do not have to manufacture peace to enter your own home.

The peace is already there, waiting to meet you in the hallway. Put your hand on the handle.

The light is not afraid of your exhaustion.