Held Behind the Cold Glass

The room is loud, and they are laughing at your joke, but you are watching from behind a pane of thick, cold glass. You feel like a ghost haunting your own skin, disconnected from the joy you just sparked.

This is the deepest hour, where the silence inside you screams louder than the noise around you. But listen — the light does not depend on your ability to feel it.

It was there before the numbness, and it is there now, beneath the dissociation. You do not have to break the glass to be held.

The Father's love is not a feeling you must manufacture; it is the ground you are standing on, even when your feet feel like air. You are not a ghost.

You are a child of the light, temporarily forgotten by your own senses. The laughter is real.

The love is real. And you are still here, breathing, while the darkness tries to convince you that you have already left.