The Light Waits in the Stall

The lock clicks. The world outside keeps spinning, but in here, the air is too thin to breathe.

You are terrified that if you sit down on this cold floor, the stillness will swallow you whole—that stopping means ending. But listen.

The light does not require you to keep moving to stay alive. It was there before you started running, and it is here now, in the stall, in the silence, in the shaking of your hands.

You came from the light, a drop sent to illuminate this very darkness, not to outrun it. It is not waiting for you to finish your shift or fix your life.

It is waiting for you to stop. The door is not a tomb.

It is the place where the running finally ends and the real living begins.