The Love That Set The Table

The steam rises from a single bowl, and your hand reaches for the second plate before your mind catches up with the silence. You stand there holding the empty ceramic, remembering a voice that isn't there, and the weight of it nearly breaks you.

In this hour, the forgetting feels like a betrayal, but the light does not scold you for the mistake. It sees the love that set the table, not the emptiness of the chair.

There is light within you, and it lights up the whole world even when the room feels dark. You are not defined by the plate you put back in the cupboard, but by the love that tried to feed someone who is gone.

The grief is just the shape of your capacity to love, and that capacity has not died.