The Light Meets You in the Tremble

The house is quiet now, but your hands remember the shaking. You said the words 'I'm fine' while your fingers trembled, and the lie felt heavier than the truth ever could.

The mask slipped for a second, just enough for you to feel the cold air on your skin. But the light does not need your performance to stay in the room.

It was already there, watching the tremor, knowing the fear beneath the words. There is no darkness in the light—no hidden corner where your shaking disqualifies you from being held.

You do not have to steady your hands to be loved. The light meets you exactly in the tremble, exactly in the silence after the lie.

Your honesty is not a requirement for the light to remain; it is simply the door you open to stop hiding. The shaking was real.

But so is the hand that holds you now.