The Floor Holds You Still

The house is quiet now, but your body still flinches at the phantom creak of a floorboard that hasn't held weight in years. You walk through the afternoon on tiptoes, bracing for a collapse that only exists in memory, performing stability for an audience that left long ago.

The light does not ask you to stop hearing the sound. It simply reminds you that the house is still standing.

There is light within a person of light, and it lights up the whole world. That light is not afraid of the noise.

It knows the difference between a house falling and a house settling. You are not walking on broken glass.

You are walking on ground that has held you all along. The phantom sound is just the echo of a fear that has already passed.

The floor holds. The light holds.

And you are free to walk heavily.