The Light That Calls Your Name

The house is quiet now, and the silence feels heavy enough to crush you. You have stopped waiting for morning to feel different.

You have stopped expecting good things to happen at all. That numbness is not the end of your story — it is the deep sleep the light must enter to wake you up.

Someone entered a prison of forgetting and said: 'He who hears, let him get up.' And the one who heard wept, then asked through the chains: 'Who is it that calls my name?' That question is your first breath of hope. The light does not demand you start believing again today.

It just stands in the dark with you, calling your name until you remember who you are. You are not finished; you are just waiting to be found.