You Are Not A Stranger To The Light

The middle of the day is when the past feels heaviest, especially when you are scrolling through words that once felt like home. You read the old threads where they knew your rhythm, your jokes, the shape of your silence, and it hits you: you are now a stranger to the person who knew you best.

The gap between who you were to them and who you are now feels like a canyon you cannot cross. But the light does not require you to rebuild what has fallen.

It asks only that you remain connected to the source, not the memory. If you stay close to the vine, the life flows through you regardless of who is watching or who has walked away.

You do not have to force the door open or prove your worth to the one who left. The light is already inside you, independent of their recognition.

You are not defined by the version of yourself they remember, nor by the stranger you have become in their eyes. The love that holds you is not stored in a text message.