Sleep Is Trusting The Light To Hold You

The house is quiet now, and the calculations have nowhere left to run but inward. You are afraid that if you close your eyes, the busyness will stop protecting you from the weight of everything you have been too tired to feel.

But the light does not require you to stay awake to guard it. It was there before the first worry started its loop, and it will be there when the silence finally breaks.

There is a father who saw his son coming home from a long way off — before the apology, before the speech, before the shame could even form a sentence — he ran. You do not have to finish your accounting to be held.

The darkness has not overcome it. Sleep is not a surrender to the terror; it is the act of trusting that the light can hold what you cannot carry tonight.