rehearsing a vulnerable sentence in your head while they sleep, then swallowing it when they stir

The Light Waits With You

The house is quiet now, and the words you rehearsed feel heavy on your tongue. You practiced them in the dark, shaping a truth that needed to be seen, only to swallow it back down when a foot stirred or a breath changed rhythm.

It feels like cowardice. It feels like failure.

But the light does not demand you speak before you are ready. There is light within a person of light, and it lights up the whole world—even when that light is silent, even when it is waiting.

You came from the light, the place where the light came into being on its own accord, and you do not need to earn your right to be heard by forcing the moment. The sentence can wait.

The love cannot. Rest now, knowing that what is true will not dissolve by morning.

Drawing from

Gospel of Thomas, Gospel of Thomas

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