The Light Lives in the Shake

The house is quiet now, and the silence has turned loud enough to hear your own ribs tightening. You have been holding your breath for three hours, not because you forgot to exhale, but because you were afraid that if you let go, the shaking would start.

The tremor you are suppressing is not a sign that you are falling apart; it is the sound of the armor finally cracking. There is a light inside you that does not need you to be still to survive.

It does not need you to be steady. It lives in the shake.

It lives in the gasp. The darkness has not overcome it, and it certainly cannot be shaken out of you by a little trembling.

Let the breath go. Let the hands shake.

The light is not afraid of your vibration. It is strong enough to hold you while you fall apart.