Peace That Waits in the Storm

The house is quiet now, but your mind is screaming. You lie perfectly still, replaying the argument, inventing cruel responses you wish you had spoken in the heat of the moment.

The afternoon stretches out, a long middle where nothing moves except your regret. But listen — the light does not need your perfect comeback to reach you.

It is already in the room, sitting on the edge of the bed where you are frozen. There is a peace that does not require the storm to end, a rest that exists even while your heart races through what-ifs.

You do not have to fix the silence right now. You do not have to rewrite the script.

The light is content to wait with you in the stillness, knowing that the words you spoke in anger are not the final truth of who you are. The middle of the day is heavy, but you are held in it.