The Light Does Not Need Your Defense

The house is quiet now, but your mind is loud with the scene you played out hours ago. You are rewriting the script, editing your voice to sound steadier, colder, less shaken than you were.

You wish you had said less. Or nothing at all.

You are trying to build a fortress around a moment that has already passed. But the light does not need your defense.

It was there in the room when your voice trembled. It saw the shaking hands and did not look away.

There is light within a person of light, and it lights up the whole world—even the parts you are trying to hide behind a better performance. You do not have to protect the light from your vulnerability.

It thrives in the honest dark. Stop rewriting the past.

The version of you that stammered and felt too much was still the version the light called beloved.