Your Body Remembers Abandonment, Light Remembers Staying

The hand reaches out, and your whole body pulls back before your mind can speak. It is a flinch learned in the dark, a memory that says help is just the prelude to being left alone again.

You brace for the door to close, for the silence to return, for the promise to break. But listen — the light that is offering itself does not operate on the logic of your past.

It does not give so it can take away. It stands at the door and knocks, waiting for you to open, not to enter and then vanish, but to sit with you.

The one who is in you is greater than the one who is in the world, and that presence cannot be snatched away. Your body remembers abandonment, but the light remembers only how to stay.

The flinch is real, but it is not the truth.