The Light Sitting in the Unsent

The screen glows in the dim room, a small rectangle holding a name you used to say out loud. You type the greeting.

You type the question. You watch the cursor blink, waiting for a courage that doesn't come.

Then the deleting starts. One word backspaces into nothing.

Then another. Until the screen is blank again, and the silence in the room feels heavier than before.

The light does not scold you for the empty message. It sees the ache in your thumb, the hesitation in your heart, and it calls that holy.

You are not defined by the words you sent, or the ones you swallowed. The love you carry is real, even when it has nowhere to go tonight.

Let the blank screen be enough. The light is already there, sitting with you in the unsent.