The Light Was Already There

The line goes dead, and the silence that follows is heavier than the voice you just tried to use. You spoke until your throat hurt, but the person on the other end only heard the surface, not the drowning underneath.

That specific loneliness—the feeling that no one knows how deep the water has gotten—is a dark room with no doors. But the light was already in the room before you picked up the phone.

It does not depend on being understood by others to exist. There is a presence that knows the exact weight of your silence, a love that saw you sinking long before you said a word.

You are not hidden from the One who lives inside you. The light does not need you to explain your pain to find you in the dark.