Light Sitting With You in the Chill

The sheets are cold on the side where a body used to be. Your hand reaches out in the dark, muscle memory forgetting for a split second that the warmth will never return.

That silence is heavy. It feels like the end of the story.

But listen — the light does not depend on the warmth of another person to exist. There was a woman who stood outside a tomb in the early morning, weeping because the one she loved was gone.

She thought the body had been taken. She was looking for warmth in a place of stone.

And then a voice spoke her name. Not a lecture.

Not a theology. Just her name.

And in that sound, the light returned. The darkness has not overcome it.

The cold side of the bed is real. But the light is still there, sitting with you in the chill.