The Silence Is Full of Love

The morning light is bright enough to hide the silence, but your pocket still vibrates with a ghost. You check the screen, hoping for a name that hasn't appeared in weeks.

You smile at the coffee shop, at the desk, at the mirror — performing the part of someone who is fine. But inside, the quiet is loud.

— The light sees behind the mask. It knows you are waiting for a call that isn't coming.

It knows the ache of a phone that stays still. You do not have to pretend here.

The light does not need your performance; it only needs your presence. It is not waiting for you to be okay.

It is already with you in the not-okay. The silence is not empty; it is full of a love that does not depend on a ringtone.