The Light That Never Sleeps

The house is quiet now, but your mind is replaying the exact angle of their head on the pillow. You are searching the memory for a flinch, a stirred sheet, any sign that your closing of the door broke their peace.

The darkness feels heavy with this inventory of your own footsteps. But the light that watches over them does not sleep, and it was not startled by your leaving.

It holds the room in a silence deeper than any breath you might have disturbed. You did not wake them — the Love that covers them is far more gentle than your hand on the latch.

The memory fades, but the guarding remains. You are free to rest, because the One who never slumbers is keeping the watch you cannot.