Your Sadness Draws the Light Closer

The house is quiet now, and the inventory of the day begins. You feel the weight of your own sadness rising, and a familiar fear takes hold: that if you speak it, you will be too much.

That your grief is a burden others are waiting to unload. But listen.

The light does not calculate the cost of your tears. It does not keep a ledger of how much sorrow it can hold before it walks away.

There was a moment in a garden, when the night was closing in and the sorrow was heavy enough to crush a soul, and the light fell on its face in the dirt and begged for the cup to pass. It did not hide its ache to protect its friends.

It let them see the unraveling. And it was not rejected.

Your sadness is not a weight that drives the love away. It is the very thing that draws the light closer.

You are not too heavy to be held.