You Are a Child to Be Held

The house is quiet now, and the panic starts whispering that you are only as good as what you produced today. That if you stop moving, your worth evaporates into the dark.

But the light does not ask for your labor before it loves you. There was a father who saw his son coming home from a long way off.

He ran. Before the apology, before the speech — he ran.

He did not wait for the boy to prove he was useful again. He ran because the boy was his.

You are not a tool to be used. You are a child to be held.

The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it. Your value is not something you earn by staying awake.

It is something you are, even when your hands are still. Rest is not the absence of worth.

It is the place where you remember you already have it.