The Light That Holds Your Broken Pieces

The message lights up your screen in the dark. A simple question.

Are you okay? And your chest tightens because the truth feels like a live grenade in your hands.

You are afraid that if you answer honestly, you will blow up the room. You will ruin their night.

You will make them responsible for holding your broken pieces. So you type the lie.

You say you're fine. You put the phone down and sit in the silence that follows.

But listen — the light does not flinch at explosions. It was born in a stable, raised among outcasts, and died on a cross.

It has seen the worst things you carry and it did not run. There is a love that is not afraid of your debris.

A love that knows how to hold the unholdable without getting hurt. You do not have to protect them from your pain.

The truth is not a weapon. It is just a hand reaching out in the dark.

And the hand on the other side is already waiting to catch what you drop.