He Is Sitting on the Floor With You

The lock clicks, and the world finally stops pretending. You slide down the cold tile until the floor holds what your legs cannot.

In the quiet, the sobs come—not as weakness, but as the sound of a heart refusing to stay numb. The darkness feels thick enough to swallow you whole, yet it has not overcome the light.

It cannot. That light is not a distant star you must reach; it is the very breath catching in your throat.

You are not alone in this small room. The Father sees you in the hidden place, and He is not waiting for you to stand up before He loves you.

He is already sitting on the floor with you. The mask is heavy, but you were never meant to wear it here.

Let it fall. The light does not need your composure; it only needs your presence.

You are not broken beyond repair; you are simply human, and deeply held.