The Light Does Not Curdle
The morning light hits the room and suddenly your skin feels like a costume you didn't choose. You are speaking, and then a stranger's gaze drifts — just for a second — to your chest or your hips.
And your voice dies in your throat. You wait for the curdle.
The disgust. The moment they see what you believe is wrong with you.
But the light does not curdle. It sees the mask you wear to survive the office, and it loves the person hiding behind it.
There is no disgust in the eyes of the One who made you. Only a quiet, steady knowing that you are whole.
The panic says you are exposed. The truth says you are already held.
Drawing from
1 John, Gospel of Thomas
Verses
1 John 3:20, Gospel of Thomas 3
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