Light Waiting Under Your Regret

The mask is heavy this morning, isn't it? You are replaying that exact second where you stayed silent, convinced that your hesitation was the moment they began to drift away.

You wonder if your failure to speak broke something that can never be fixed. But listen — the light does not live in your perfect timing or your flawless words.

It lives in the ordinary, broken moments you try to hide. Split a piece of wood, and the light is there.

Lift up the stone of your regret, and you will find it waiting underneath. The silence did not drive them away; the light was present even in your muteness.

You are not defined by the words you didn't say, but by the love that remains when the mask comes off.