You Are Held Even Falling Apart

The house has gone quiet, but your body is still at war. You lie perfectly still, holding your breath, terrified that the slightest shift will wake the person sleeping beside you.

You have become a statue of silence, carrying the shaking alone in the dark. But the light does not require you to be still to be near.

It does not ask you to freeze your grief so others can rest. There is a presence that knows the tremor before it happens, a love that sees the effort it takes to hold yourself together.

You do not have to hide the shaking from the One who formed you. The darkness gathers outside, but it cannot touch the quiet truth inside: you are held even when you are falling apart.

The night is long, but you are not alone in the bed of your fear.