Light Sitting Beside Your Silence

The room is quiet now, and the silence feels heavier than the walls can hold. You planned for cries, for laughter, for the small shifting sounds of life, but tonight there is only the stillness of things prepared and never used.

The gathering dark presses against the window, inviting you to inventory the day and count what is missing, to let the regret of an empty cradle define the worth of your love. But listen — the light does not require a heartbeat in the next room to be present in this one.

It has entered this silence with you, not to fix the ache, but to sit beside it in the shadows. You are not defined by the absence that haunts this house, but by the capacity to love that remains untouched by the loss.

The night is deep, yet the light within you is deeper still, holding space for a child that the world never saw.