The Light Knows Your Silence

The phone rings, and before you can even lift it to your ear, your body locks up. The voice you used to know becomes the trigger that shuts you down.

That freeze is not a failure of faith. It is your body remembering a war it survived.

Tonight, in the gathering dark, you do not have to force your throat to open. The light does not demand a greeting you cannot give.

It knows the silence between the ring and your hello. It knows the tremor in your hand.

There is a peace that does not require you to speak before you are ready. A peace that sits with you in the locked-up feeling and says: I am here, even when you cannot say hi.

You are not condemned by your inability to answer. The verdict of your trembling heart is not the final one.

The light sees the terror and stays anyway.