The Light Runs Toward You

The morning light hits the screen, and you are reading words you sent three days ago, convinced the recipient can hear the desperation in your silence. You are performing okayness for the world while your heart screams that you have already said too much.

But the light does not scan your drafts for errors — it sees the person behind the performance. There is a father who saw his son coming home from a long way off, and he ran before the apology was even finished.

The light runs toward you now, not away from your perceived failure. You do not have to edit yourself to be loved.

The mask is heavy, but the face beneath it is already known. Silence is not a wall between you and the divine; it is the space where the truth lives without needing to speak.