The Light Sits With Your Dry Soul

The morning light is already on the counter, but you are still holding the glass from last night. The water is full.

Your throat is dry. And the terror is not that you are thirsty, but that you might never be thirsty for anything again.

You put on the face that says you are ready for the day, but inside, the well feels sealed. The light does not ask you to drink before you feel the need.

It sits with you in the kitchen, in the silence before the first sip. It knows the difference between a dry mouth and a dry soul.

What you feel right now is not the end of your story; it is the space where the thirst will return. You do not have to manufacture the desire.

You only have to remain here, in this honest, empty moment. The water is waiting.

The feeling will come back.