Let the Light See You Tonight

The hum of the refrigerator is the only sound left in the house. You stand there, bathed in that cold, artificial glow, too hollow to eat but too wired to sleep.

The light feels like it is mocking your emptiness, a stark reminder of everything you cannot swallow right now. But listen — this light is not a spotlight on your lack.

It is a promise that you are not alone in the dark. The true light that gives light to everyone was coming into the world, and it is here, in this kitchen, at 2am.

It does not demand that you consume. It does not ask you to fix your hunger before it stays.

It simply shines. You are not a project to be solved tonight.

You are a person being held. The darkness has not overcome it.

The light is not waiting for morning to begin; it is already enough for this hour. You do not have to eat.

You do not have to sleep. You just have to stand there and let the light see you.