The Light That Stays When You Hide

The house is quiet now, and the shadows are lengthening across the floor. This is the hour when the mask slips, and the old terror returns: that if they truly saw what you carry, they would turn away in disgust.

You have spent the day hiding the broken parts, convinced that love depends on your perfection. But there was a woman caught in the act, dragged into the light to be judged by everyone around her.

The accusers stood ready with their stones, waiting for permission to destroy her. Yet the light bent down, wrote in the dust, and waited until every single one of them had left.

When it finally stood up, it did not look at her with revulsion. It asked where they were, and when she said 'no one,' it replied: 'Neither do I condemn you.' The darkness has not overcome it.

The fear tells you that exposure means rejection. The truth is that the light sees everything you are hiding, and it stays.