The Light Waits in the Dark

The house is quiet now, and the silence feels like a verdict. You are still here, frozen in the exact hour the world stopped, while everyone else seems to have walked forward into a tomorrow you cannot enter.

It feels as though time has abandoned you to this single, hollow moment. But listen — the light does not keep a calendar.

It does not move on without you. It is standing right here in the dark with you, holding the grief you cannot put down.

The darkness has not overcome it. The light was there when the breath left, and it is here now, unchanged.

You are not stuck because you are broken; you are still because you are holding something sacred that the rush of the world cannot touch. The world moves, but the light waits.