The Dawn Does Not Require a Spotless Counter

The house is quiet now, but the sink is full of the evidence that you couldn't sleep. You stand there in the dark, scrubbing the plate you hid from yourself, washing away the crumbs like they are a crime scene.

The water runs cold over your hands as you try to erase the night before the sun comes up. But the light does not need a clean kitchen to love you.

It saw you eat. It saw you hurt.

And it stayed. You are scrubbing to feel worthy of the morning, but worthiness was already waiting for you in the dark.

The dawn does not require a spotless counter to break. It rises anyway.

Stop washing. The night is over.

You are allowed to be seen, exactly as you are, when the sun comes up.