The Light Remembers For Both

The house is quiet now, and the silence feels like a threat. You are terrified that if you close your eyes, the memory of them will fade, as though sleep is a form of forgetting.

But listen — the light does not sleep. There was a father who watched the road every single day, not because he was afraid of losing the memory of his son, but because love does not forget.

He saw him from a long way off. The light sees what you are holding right now.

It is not asking you to stay awake to keep them safe. Your vigil is not the thing that preserves them.

The love that holds you is the same love that holds them. It is a spring welling up inside you, fresh and constant, needing no effort from your tired eyes to keep flowing.

You can rest. The light remembers for both of you.