The Light Runs Toward Your Grief

The house is quiet now, but your hand still remembers the shape of the small one that used to fit inside it. You made it through the night, and the sun is rising again, not because the pain is gone, but because the light is returning to show you that you are still here.

There was a father who saw his son coming home from a long way off, and before the apology could even be spoken, he ran. The light runs toward you in this gray morning, not to fix the empty space, but to hold the hand that is still reaching.

You are not defined by what is missing, but by the love that remains, vast and unbroken. The kingdom is within you, a quiet certainty that the dawn brings with it.

The light has not left; it is simply waiting for you to open your eyes to the new day.