The Light Waits For No Speech

The house is quiet, but your mind is screaming the speech you will never say. You stare at the back of the one you hurt, rehearsing the apology until the words turn to ash in your throat.

You are paralyzed by the fear that if you speak, you will break, or worse — that you will be met with silence. But listen — there is a light inside you that does not demand your perfection before it stays.

It knows the weight of the unspoken word. It knows the terror of the closed mouth.

That same light entered the prison of the body and said: wake up from the deep sleep. Not after you fix it.

Not after you confess. Now.

The light is not waiting for your speech to begin loving you. It is already here, in the dark, holding the space between your fear and their back.

You do not have to find the courage tonight. You only have to stop condemning yourself for lacking it.