Love Runs Before You Speak

The screen lights up your face in the dark, a small rectangle holding all your hope and all your fear. You sent the truth, and now the silence feels like a verdict, each minute stretching into an hour of imagined ruin.

But the light does not speak in notifications, and it does not withdraw when the phone stays dark. There was a father who saw his son coming home from a long way off—he ran before the apology was even finished.

That same love is already moving toward you, not waiting for your courage to be rewarded, but meeting you in the trembling. The silence is not empty; it is simply the space where the running happens.

You are not being ignored; you are being held in the dark before the embrace begins.