You Do Not Have To Be The Cure

The house is quiet now, but your ears are still full of their crying. You sit in the dark knowing your hand on their shoulder felt less like comfort and more like another thing they had to carry.

You wanted to lift the weight, but you became part of the load. That is a specific kind of loneliness — to be the one who stays, yet feels like a burden to the one you love.

But listen — the light does not measure your worth by how well you soothe. There is a knowing deeper than your own heart's verdict, a mercy that sees the love beneath the clumsy touch and calls it enough.

You do not have to be the cure. You only have to be the witness who refuses to leave the room.

The light is not asking you to fix the night; it is asking you to endure it alongside them.