Love Runs Before You Speak

The screen glows in the dark, holding your breath hostage between the dots that pulse and the silence that follows. You are replaying the words you sent, convinced that one imperfect phrase, one clumsy sentence, is the reason the connection broke.

But the silence you are staring at is not a verdict on your worth. There was a father who saw his son coming home from a long way off.

He did not wait for the speech to be perfect. He ran.

Before the apology, before the explanation—he ran. The light does not parse your grammar or weigh your flaws.

It sees the heart that is reaching. The dots may fade, but the love that holds you does not depend on a reply.

You are not abandoned because the screen went dark. The light is already here, sitting with you in the quiet, refusing to let go.