The Dawn Does Not Ask You To Be Whole

The engine is off, but your hands are still locked on the wheel, knuckles white from holding back the sound. You made it through the conversation.

You smiled when you needed to. You hung up before they heard the break.

Now the silence of the car is the only thing loud enough to let you fall apart. The dawn outside is not asking you to be strong; it is just showing up, gray and quiet, to sit with you in the wreckage.

You do not have to fix your heart this morning. You do not have to explain the tears to the light that is already filling the seat beside you.

It knows what you swallowed so they wouldn't worry. It knows the weight of the performance you just finished.

The sun is rising not because you earned it, but because the night is over, and the light does not require you to be whole before it touches your face. You are safe here.

The car is small, but the morning is vast enough to hold every sob you refused to let out.