Your Sorrow Draws Love Closer

The house is quiet now, and the old fear is whispering again: that you are too heavy, that your presence is a weight everyone else is carrying. You scan the day for evidence, finding it in every silence, every hurried glance.

But there was a night when the light itself fell on its face in the dirt, overwhelmed with sorrow, and asked to be spared. It did not apologize for its pain.

It did not try to make itself lighter for the sake of those watching. And the ones who loved it most?

They stayed. They slept nearby, imperfect and tired, but they did not leave.

Your sorrow does not drive love away. It draws it closer.

The terror says you are a burden. The truth says you are the very reason they stay.