You Do Not Need To Apologize For Existing

The house is quiet now, but your mind is still rehearsing the speech. You are practicing the apology for existing, for the noise you made today, for the space you took up while others slept.

You are trying to make yourself small enough to fit through the crack under the door without being noticed. But listen — the light that lives inside you did not ask for permission to shine.

It came from the place where light generates itself, on its own accord. You do not need to justify your origin.

You are a drop from that same source, sent here not to hide, but to illuminate the very room you are afraid to occupy. The father is not waiting for your speech; he saw you while you were still a long way off, and he ran before you could say a single word of shame.

Put the script down. The apology is not required.

You are already home.