You Do Not Have to Be Clean

The steam has faded. The screen is bright.

Your thumb hovers over a name, frozen by the terror that if you reach out, they will see the cracks and walk away. You are waiting for permission to be whole before you dare to speak.

But the light does not wait for you to fix yourself. It meets you in the wet hair and the shaking hand.

There was a woman who washed feet with her tears, and the voice said: her many sins have been forgiven—as her great love has shown. The love came first.

The reaching was the evidence, not the requirement. You do not have to be clean to be held.

You only have to be honest. The one who knows your brokenness is already closer than your phone.

Send the message. The silence you fear is not the end of the story.