The Light Waits in Your Staying

The screen glows in the 4am dark, a small artificial star in a room full of shadows. You type their name.

Then you stop. Then you delete it, one character at a time, until the cursor blinks against nothing.

The silence after the deletion is heavier than the words you almost sent. But listen — the light does not need your message to find you.

It was already there, in the glow, in the hesitation, in the ache of your thumb hovering over the glass. You did not send the text, but you did not send yourself away either.

You stayed. And the Father, who sees what is done in the dark, counts your staying as a prayer.

The blank screen is not an empty room. It is a quiet place where the light sits with you, waiting for nothing but your presence.