Held by the Living One

The mask is on. You are smiling at the right moments, nodding when names are spoken, performing the role of someone who is fine.

But inside, a quiet terror has taken hold: you can no longer recall the specific weight of their hand in yours. The pressure, the warmth, the exact shape of their grip—it has dissolved into a ghost sensation, leaving you grasping at air.

You wonder if forgetting the touch means you are losing them all over again. But listen.

There was a woman who had been bleeding for twelve years, forgotten by doctors and exhausted by suffering. She did not need to remember the past to be healed.

She only needed to reach for the hem of the garment right in front of her. She touched the edge, trembling, and the power went out of him to make her well.

The light does not ask you to reconstruct what is gone. It asks you to touch what is here.

The memory may fade, but the presence remains. You are not holding onto a ghost; you are being held by the living one.