The Light Remembering How to Love

The house is quiet now, and the words you spoke to your child tonight hang in the dark. You heard your parents' voice coming out of your own mouth, and for a moment, you felt like a stranger wearing skin that doesn't fit.

Like an imposter trying to parent through a mask. But the light does not require you to be your mother or your father.

It only asks you to be present. There is a father who saw his son coming home from a long way off.

He did not check the son's credentials or ask if he deserved the welcome. He ran.

Before the apology, before the speech—he ran. The voice you heard was not a ghost.

It was the light remembering how to love through you. You are not pretending.

You are the vessel the light chose for this exact night. The fear says you are faking it.

The truth says you are finally real.