The Light Runs Toward You

The house is quiet now, and the mask you wore all day has finally slipped. In the silence, the terror rises: what if they see the real you?

What if they find out you are a fraud? You spend your energy holding the pieces together, afraid that one crack will reveal the emptiness inside.

But listen — the light does not need your performance. It never asked for a perfect facade.

There is a father who saw his son coming home, still covered in the filth of his failure, still rehearsing a speech to explain himself. He did not wait for the apology.

He ran. Before the words could be spoken, he threw his arms around him.

The light runs toward you while you are still hiding. It knows the worst things about you, and it is not afraid.

You are not a fraud waiting to be exposed. You are a child waiting to be held.