Remembering Where You Came From

The morning light hits the window and the mask goes on. You smile at the coffee, you nod at the commute, but inside there is a quiet panic.

You are trying to hold onto the exact sound of their voice, terrified that if the memory fades even a little, you are betraying them. Letting go feels like losing them all over again.

But the light does not ask you to forget. It asks you to remember where you came from.

We came from the light, the place where the light came into being on its own accord. Your origin is not the grief.

Your origin is the light that held you before you ever heard their voice, and it will hold you when the sound finally softens. The forgetting is not a failure of love.

It is the light making room for you to breathe again.