The Light Hears Your Unsent Words

The screen glows in the dim room, a small rectangle holding the weight of everything you cannot say out loud. You type the words, delete them, type them again, convinced that if you could just find the perfect combination, you could undo the silence.

But the light does not need your eloquence to hear you. It saw you before you opened the app.

It sees the trembling finger hovering over the backspace key. There was a man whose friends lowered him through a roof because the door was locked, and when the light saw their effort to reach him, it spoke peace before the man could even stand.

Your desperate typing is that same reach through the tiles. You do not need to perfect the message for the message to be received.

The silence between your drafts is not empty; it is where the listening happens. You are not alone with your unsent words.