Held Before You Speak

The house is quiet, but your mind is screaming that if they saw how tired you really are, they would walk away. You hide the exhaustion behind a mask of okayness, terrified that your fatigue makes you unlovable.

But listen — the light does not love you for your performance. It loves you because you are.

There is a father who saw his son coming home from a long way off, still covered in filth, and he ran before the apology could even be spoken. The light is not waiting for you to be fresh.

It is kneeling beside you in this 4am dust. You are not too heavy to hold.

You are the one being held right now. The terror says you will be left.

The truth says you are already known.