The Light Runs Toward You

The scream still hangs in the air of this 4am room, heavier than the darkness itself. You remember the way their small shoulders jumped, the way their eyes went wide with a fear you never meant to plant.

In this deepest hour, the memory feels like a chain that will never rust away. But listen — the light that lives inside you did not shatter when your voice broke.

It was there before the anger rose, and it is here now, beneath the shame. There is a father who saw his son coming home from a long way off.

He ran. Before the apology, before the speech — he ran.

The light runs toward you in this silence, not to scold the scream, but to hold the one who screamed. You are not defined by the moment you lost control.

You are defined by the love that remains, waiting for you to stop running from yourself. The night is long, but the dawn does not ask you to be perfect before it arrives.