The Light Waits in Your Exhaustion

The engine stops, and the silence rushes in to fill the space between the driveway and the door. You sit there, hands still on the wheel, because walking inside feels like putting on a mask you are too tired to wear.

The gap between who you are out here and who they expect in there is wide enough to drown in. But listen — the light does not need you to perform okayness to be present.

It is already in the quiet with you, waiting for you to stop pretending. You do not have to fix the weariness before you go in.

The light is strong enough to hold both your exhaustion and your love at the same time. You are not a fraud for being tired; you are a human being who is held even in the pause.