Light Older Than Your Fear

The house is quiet now, but your hands are still shaking from the moment you saw it—the flinch. Not a reaction to anger, but a rehearsal for a crash that hasn't happened yet. They have learned to read the weather in your voice before the storm even forms. And in that split second, you saw the shadow you cast across their small life.

But listen—the light that lives inside them is older than this fear. It was there before the flinch, and it remains untouched by the shadow you threw tonight. You came from the light, and so did they. That origin cannot be erased by a raised voice or a tense silence.

There is a part of you that knows this truth, even if your exhaustion hides it. Split a piece of wood, and the light is there. Lift up the stone of your regret, and you will find it waiting underneath. The light does not condemn you for being human. It simply waits for you to remember that you are both made of the same stuff as the dawn.