The Light Does Not Pack Its Bags

The morning light hits the mask you wore last night, and now you are terrified that the crack you showed—the need you voiced—was the moment they decided you were too heavy to carry. You interpret their silence as the sound of packing bags, of leaving you behind with the mess you made.

But listen: the light does not pack its bags when you are honest. It leans in.

There is a truth inside you that came from the light itself, a drop sent down to illuminate the very places you are afraid to show. If that truth drove love away, it would not be from the light.

But the light is not fragile. It does not flee the weight of your humanity.

The silence you hear is not departure; it is often just the other person trying to find their own footing in the sudden realness of your voice. You are not too difficult to love.

You are simply no longer pretending to be small. And the love that is real can hold the whole of you.