Your Heart Has Not Stopped Beating

The news scrolls by and you feel nothing, and the silence inside your own chest terrifies you more than the tragedy itself. You worry that this numbness is not a shield, but a transformation—that you are slowly becoming the very coldness you despise.

But the light does not accuse you of hardening; it accuses the darkness of trying to convince you that your heart has stopped beating. There was a man who saw crowds harassed and helpless, and his first response was not judgment of their fatigue, but compassion for their weight.

He knew that exhaustion often looks like indifference from the outside. Your numbness is not a monster waking up; it is a soul that has carried too much weight for too long without setting it down.

The light that lives in you has not gone dark; it is simply resting beneath the ash, waiting for you to stop hating yourself long enough to feel its warmth again. You are not becoming the darkness; you are surviving it.