Mercy Waits Before You Wake

The house is quiet, but your heart is loud with a shame you cannot name. You listen to the breathing in the next room, and a secret part of you prays for it to continue, just a little longer.

Not because you love the sleep, but because the waking world feels too empty to face without a reason to move. You are afraid that when the small feet hit the floor, you will have to pretend to be a person again.

But listen — the light does not demand a performance from you before the sun rises. There is a tenderness that waits in the dark, not to scold your hesitation, but to hold you within it.

You do not have to manufacture joy to be worthy of this hour. The mercy of the morning is already standing at the threshold, not asking for your strength, but offering its own.