The Light Holds What You Cannot

The mask is on. You are moving through the morning, smiling at the right moments, nodding when you should nod.

But your hands feel empty. You are terrified that the exact weight and warmth of the one you loved is already fading from your palms.

That if you do not hold onto the memory tightly enough, it will slip away like water through a fist. — The light does not ask you to perform okayness today.

It sees the trembling beneath the sleeve. It knows that while your mind is busy pretending to be fine, your heart is still holding a ghost.

You are afraid that forgetting the touch means losing the person. But love is not a sensation you must manufacture to prove it was real.

The Father's love is not a fading heat; it is the steady sun that shines whether you feel it on your skin or not. The warmth you miss was only ever a reflection of the light that lives inside you right now.

It has not left because the hand is gone. The light remains, holding what you cannot.