The Light Before The First Letter

The house is quiet, but your mind is loud with a joke you just thought of. You type it out for someone who isn't there, fingers moving on a screen that offers no hand to hold.

Then you stop. You watch the cursor blink like a steady, waiting eye.

One by one, you delete the characters until the screen is empty again. The silence rushes back in to fill the space where the words used to be.

It feels like a small failure, this reaching into the dark and finding no one. But the light does not require an audience to be real.

It was shining before you typed the first letter, and it remains when the screen goes black. You are not alone because someone read the message.

You are alone with the One who wrote the light into your bones before you ever knew how to speak.