The Violence Ends in Your Reflection
The morning light hits the glass, and for a second, the face staring back is not yours. It is the face that raised a hand against you.
The mask you wear to work cracks, and the old terror floods in. You brace for the strike that cannot come.
But listen — the hand that moves toward you now is not clenched. It is open.
It reaches not to harm, but to heal. The violence you inherited ends here, in this reflection.
You are not the echo of their anger. You are the silence after the storm.
The light inside you is gentle, and it refuses to become what it suffered.
Drawing from
Mark 7:34, Gospel of Thomas 3
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