He Ran Before You Could Speak

The house is quiet now, and the silence feels heavy enough to break you. You are lying here convinced that your questions have built a wall so high the light can never climb it.

That your doubt has severed the cord, left you dangling in the dark. But listen — the darkness has not overcome it.

Not tonight. Not ever.

There was a father who saw his son coming home from a long way off. He did not wait for the apology.

He did not wait for the proof. He ran.

Before the speech, before the shame could even be spoken — he ran. Your doubt is not a door you have locked from the inside.

It is just a shadow passing over a face that is still turned toward you. The one who is in you is greater than the one who is in the world.

You are still held. The fear says you are alone; the truth says you are known.