Running Before The Apology Arrives

The house is quieting down, but your chest is still tight from the question they asked at the dinner table. They wanted to know if everything will be okay, and you felt the lie rise in your throat because you do not know.

You wanted to be the shield, but you are just a person, trembling in the dark with them. There was a father who saw his son coming home from a long way off.

He did not wait for the explanation. He ran.

Before the apology, before the speech—he ran. You do not have to have the answers to be the place where they are safe.

The light does not offer you a map of the future; it offers you its presence in this exact moment. You are not the guardian of tomorrow.

You are the companion for tonight. The truth is not that you know the way out.

The truth is that you are willing to sit in the dark without running away.