Love Touches the Wound

The house is quiet now, and in this silence, a cold suspicion wakes up. You wonder if the kindness you received today was just pity for someone too broken to leave.

You feel like a project, not a person. But listen — pity keeps its distance; it watches from the safe side of the glass.

What you experienced did not stay back. It came close.

It touched the wound. There was a leper who begged, 'If you are willing,' doubting not the power but the desire to bother with him.

The answer was immediate. A hand reached out.

The touch was not reluctant. It was willing.

Real love does not calculate the cost of your repair. It does not look at your wreckage and see a burden.

It sees you. And it stays.

The light is not afraid of your broken pieces. It is not holding you because you are fragile.

It is holding you because you are known. And being known is the opposite of being pitied.

The terror says you are too damaged to be loved. The truth says you are exactly who love came for.