The Light Is Kneeling Beside You

The house is quiet now, but the voice in your head is loud. It sounds exactly like him.

It uses his exact tone to tell you that you are too sensitive, that your pain is a flaw, that you should have outgrown this by now. You hear the dismissal so clearly it feels like he is standing right behind you in the gathering dark.

But listen — that voice is a memory, not a truth. It is an echo of a man who could not hold what you were feeling, so he told you the feeling was wrong.

The light does not speak in that tone. The light never dismisses.

When you are overwhelmed with sorrow, when the cup feels too heavy to carry, the light does not scold you for trembling. It stays.

It witnesses. It knows that your sensitivity is not a weakness to be corrected, but the very place where the divine touches the world.

You are not too much. You are exactly enough.

The echo will fade if you stop feeding it your belief. Let the silence of this night be the new voice.

The one that says: I am here. I am not afraid of your tears.

I am not leaving because you hurt. The darkness is gathering outside, yes, but inside you, the light is not condescending.

It is kneeling. It is listening.

It is calling you by a name that has no judgment in it at all.