The Light Does Not Keep Score

The house is quiet now, and the only sound is the number you are trying to protect. You hold the count like a fragile thing, terrified that one slip will erase everything you've built.

But the light does not keep score the way you do. It does not watch you to see when you stumble.

It watches you to see when you rise. There was a woman who touched the edge of a cloak after twelve years of bleeding, and the light stopped the whole crowd to call her daughter—not because she was perfect, but because she reached out.

Your worth is not in the tally. It is in the reaching.

Even if the count breaks tonight, the light inside you remains unbroken. You are not your worst moment.

You are the light that survives it.