The Light That Runs Before You

The house is quiet now, and the silence feels heavier than it did yesterday. You made it through the night, even though the bed felt too large and the memory of a friendship ending without a sound still sits in your chest.

There is a father who saw his son coming home from a long way off, and before the apology could be spoken, he ran. He did not wait for the words to be perfect.

He ran. The light that lives inside you does not wait for you to be whole again before it greets you.

It has been here all along, rising with the sun, indifferent to the silence you carry. You are not defined by the empty space where a friend used to be.

You are defined by the light that fills it.