The Light Waits With You

The light in the kitchen feels too bright tonight, and the open door spills cold air onto your feet while you stand frozen before rows of options that all feel like demands. You are not failing because you cannot choose; you are simply tired, and the weight of the day has made even the smallest decision feel like a mountain you cannot climb.

The light does not require you to perform the act of feeding yourself perfectly right now — it only asks that you remain standing in its glow. There is a peace available that is not like the world's peace, a quiet that says you are held even when your hands are empty.

You do not have to solve the hunger this second to be loved. The light is not waiting for you to decide; it is waiting with you in the indecision.