The Light Is Already In The Room

The house is quiet, but your heart is hammering against your ribs because you heard the footsteps stop right outside the door. You are scrubbing frantically, trying to erase the stain before the handle turns, convinced that if they see the mess, they will leave.

But the light does not flinch at the dirt. It does not wait for the sink to be spotless before it enters.

The light is already in the bathroom with you, sitting on the edge of the tub, watching you scrub with tears in your eyes. It knows about the stain.

It knew before you tried to hide it. And it is not going anywhere.

The footsteps outside do not determine whether you are loved. The light that lives inside you is greater than the fear of being found out.

You can stop scrubbing now. The door is already open.