Love Runs Toward Your Exhaustion

The mask feels heavy right now, doesn't it? You are certain that if you stopped moving, if you let the performance drop and just sat still in your exhaustion, the people around you would finally see the truth and walk away.

You believe they are only tolerating the act, not the person underneath. But there is a love that does not require your motion to stay present.

A father saw his son coming home from a long way off — still dirty, still rehearsing his apology — and he ran. Before the speech.

Before the promise to do better. He ran to the mess.

That love does not wait for you to be useful. It does not leave when you are tired.

It runs toward the very exhaustion you are trying to hide. You are not loved for what you carry, but for who you are when you put it down.