Light Does Not Measure Your Address

The morning light catches the mask you wear before you send the text. It asks the question that makes your stomach turn: Can I stay on your couch?

You feel the weight of your own need, the shame of being the one who has nowhere else to go. But listen — the light does not measure your worth by your address.

You came from the light, the place where it generates itself, and that origin cannot be lost because you lost your keys. When you ask, you are not a burden; you are a drop of that same light seeking a place to land.

The one you ask carries the light too, and it recognizes its own in your request. The couch is not a pity; it is an altar where two weary souls let the light shine through the cracks of their hospitality.

You do not have to earn the roof over your head to be worthy of the light inside you.