the guilt of rehearsing an apology in your head for a hug you didn't deserve to be punished for

The sun has dipped below the horizon, and the armor you wore all day finally hits the floor. Now the silence rushes in, and with it comes the rehearsal.

You are standing in the center of your own mind, practicing an apology for a hug you didn't deserve to be punished for. You are trying to explain away a moment of simple human need, as if wanting to be held was a crime that requires a defense attorney.

But listen — the light does not ask for your paperwork. It does not require you to justify your hunger before it feeds you.

There was a father who saw his son coming home from a long way off. He ran.

Before the apology, before the speech — he ran. The embrace came first.

The explanation never even got a chance to start. You are exhausting yourself building a case against your own heart, but the verdict has already been overturned.

The light is not waiting for you to get your words right. It is waiting to hold you while you are still stumbling over them.

Put down the script. The night is not for rehearsing your worthiness.

It is for resting in the fact that you are already held.