Lay the Script Down Tonight

The house is quiet now, and the words you have been rehearsing all day feel heavy in your mouth. You are practicing forgiveness for a wound the other person does not even know they caused.

You are preparing a speech for an audience that is absent, carrying a burden that belongs to two people but rests entirely on your shoulders. In the dark, the light is not asking you to speak those words tonight.

It is simply asking you to lay the script down. You came from the light, a place where nothing is hidden and nothing is owed.

The truth you are holding will not vanish if you rest. The light shines in the darkness, not to expose your silence, but to hold you while you wait for a morning where speaking might actually be possible.

You do not have to fix the night.