The Lamp Is Already Lit For You

The house is so quiet right now that your own breathing sounds like an intrusion. You are wondering, in this deep dark, if your absence would even register.

If you vanished into the silence, would the world notice the gap? The light knows the weight of that question.

It knows the fear that you are invisible. But listen — the light does not scan the horizon for the impressive.

It searches for the lost. There is a woman who lights a lamp and sweeps the entire house, moving furniture, getting on her knees in the dust, searching carefully until she finds the one coin that rolled away.

She does not count the nine that stayed. She hunts for the one that left.

And when she finds it, she calls everyone she knows to rejoice. You are not a statistic.

You are the coin in the crack of the floor. The lamp is already lit.

The search is already underway. You cannot disappear without being missed by the one who holds the light.