Your fracture is where the light enters

The house is quiet now, but your mind is loud with the replay. You flinched.

You pulled back when you should have leaned in. And now you are whispering a silent apology to the empty room, convinced you just ruined the moment by being broken.

But the light does not require you to be whole to be held. There was a man who had been paralyzed for thirty-eight years, lying beside a pool, convinced he needed to be perfect before he could move.

The light did not wait for him to fix his legs. It asked one question: do you want to get well?

Then it said: get up. Not 'fix yourself first.' Just: get up.

Your fracture is not a disqualification. It is the very place where the light enters.

You are not too damaged to be loved. You are the exact shape the love was looking for.