The Vigil Is Over, Morning Has Come

The room is bright, the coffee is warm, and you are already tired. You walk in scanning the corners, measuring the distance to the exit, bracing for a blow that hasn't landed yet.

You wear the mask of okayness so well that no one sees the tremor in your hands. But the light does not need you to be brave right now — it only needs you to be here.

There is a peace that does not depend on the absence of danger, a stillness that waits behind the performance. You were not made to carry the weight of every possible tomorrow.

The light has already walked through the fire you fear, and it stands beside you, unburned and unafraid. You do not have to hold the door shut against the dark any longer.

The vigil is over; the morning has come.