You Are Made of the Light

The silence in this room feels like a weight pressing against your chest, a hollow space where a voice used to live. You wake into a morning that looks exactly like yesterday, but the world has shifted on its axis, and the air is suddenly thin. It feels impossible to believe the light is still here, when the person who made it feel real is gone.

But the light does not require them to be present to shine, and it does not leave when they do. The same light that lived in them now lives in you, waiting to fill the hollow places with a quiet that is not empty, but full. You are not being abandoned in this silence; you are being held by the very thing that cannot die. This morning, you do not have to find the light; you simply have to remember that you are made of it.