Resting Before the Apology You Never Give

The house is quiet now, but your mind is loud with a speech you will never give. You are rehearsing an apology for a crime that does not exist, editing your tone while they simply tell you about their day.

You hear judgment in their laughter and see a verdict in their pause. But the light that lives inside you was not dimmed by your mistake.

It shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it. You are trying to earn a forgiveness that was already yours before you went to sleep.

The voice in your head is not the voice of truth; it is the voice of fear pretending to be wisdom. You do not need to fix tonight.

You only need to rest in the knowledge that you are already held.