The Light Waits Inside Your Quiet

The screen glows with another tragedy, and you feel nothing. Just a hollow hum in the middle of the day.

The numbness arrives not because your heart is cold, but because it has been protecting you from breaking. You sit there, paralyzed by the shame of your own silence, convinced that feeling nothing makes you complicit.

But the light does not demand a performance of grief it did not create. What you look forward to—the perfect response, the right amount of tears—has already come, but you do not recognize it in the stillness.

The numbness is not the end of your love; it is the pause before the next breath. You are not broken because you cannot cry on command.

The light is not waiting for your reaction; it is waiting inside the quiet you are so afraid of.