Resting While the Heart Sleeps

The screen lights up with a name you know by heart, but the words land in a hollow space where the feeling used to be. You read them twice, waiting for the echo of love, and find only silence staring back at you.

This numbness is not a verdict on your capacity to love—it is the armor you wore to survive the last blow, now stuck in the raised position. The light does not demand you force a response or manufacture a warmth you cannot access tonight.

It simply sits with you in the quiet, knowing that the numbness is temporary, even when it feels permanent. You are not broken because the echo is missing; you are resting in the mercy of a heart that knows how to wait.

The capacity to feel is not gone; it is only sleeping, guarded by the one who never sleeps.