Love Runs Before You Apologize

The mask is heavy this morning. You smile at the coffee machine, at the coworker, at the screen, while inside you are counting the seconds until the person you love realizes you are too much to carry.

You are sure they are packing their bags in their heart, one silent complaint at a time. But listen — there is a love that does not calculate weight.

There is a father who saw his son coming home from a long way off, still covered in the filth of his failure, and he did not wait for the apology. He ran.

Before the speech, before the promise to be lighter, he ran. That love does not check if you are worth the effort.

It simply moves toward you. You are not a burden to the light.

You are the very reason it entered the world.