The Light Holds You Frozen

The middle of the day is when the mask feels heaviest, especially when you hear a voice from three shelves away that used to belong to you. You freeze.

The cart becomes an anchor. The fluorescent lights buzz like a warning.

In that suspended second, you are not running away; you are simply standing in the truth of where you are. The light does not demand you perform okayness for the produce section.

It is right there in the freeze, in the sudden quiet of your own panic. Thomas said the light is in the wood and under the stone; it is also in the aisle where you cannot move.

You do not have to walk toward the sound or run from it. Just stand.

The light is already holding the space between you and the memory.