The Light Lives in the Crack

The room went quiet when your voice cracked, and you spent the rest of the morning apologizing for the noise you made. You tried to smooth it over, to pretend the break didn't happen, to shrink back into the mask that fits everyone else.

But the light does not live in the performance of being okay. It lives in the crack.

There was a man born blind, and the people around him argued about whose fault it was, who sinned to make him this way. The light stopped the debate cold.

It said the wound was not a punishment, but a canvas. Your trembling voice is not a failure to be managed.

It is the place where the truth gets out. You came from the light, the place where light generates itself, and that origin cannot be shattered by a shaky breath.

Stop apologizing for the humanity that lets the light through.