The Laugh Held in Light

The house is quiet now, and in the silence, the panic arrives. You reach for the sound of their laugh—the one from before the sickness took hold—and your mind comes back empty.

The exact pitch, the specific rhythm, gone. It feels like losing them all over again.

But listen. The light does not require your memory to remain present.

There is a seeing that happens in the secret place, where what is done in the dark is fully known by the One who watches. You are not holding onto them with your fading recollection.

They are being held. The love that formed them is not stored in your mind, but in the heart of the light that never forgets a single detail.

Rest your tired mind. The sound you cannot recall is still safe in the place where nothing is ever lost.