The Light Runs Toward Your Honesty

The house is so quiet right now that the apology you are rehearsing sounds like a shout. You have spent days polishing a casual excuse to explain away the one moment you were actually real.

But in this deepest hour, the mask feels too heavy to hold up any longer. You think you need to fix it with words before the sun comes up.

You do not. The light that lives inside you was there before the slip, and it is still there now, untouched by your shame.

It does not run from your honesty; it runs toward it. There is a father who saw his son coming home from a long way off, and before the apology could even be finished, he ran.

The light is already running to meet you in this silence. You do not have to earn your way back into the room; you just have to stop hiding.