The Light Inside Does Not Tremble

The sun has gone down, and the house is quiet enough to hear the footsteps on the other side of the wall. You are holding your breath right now, waiting to see if they will knock, waiting to see if your silence sounds like crying.

But listen — the light that lives inside you does not tremble when it is heard. It came from a place where light generates itself, and it cannot be dimmed by the thinness of a wall.

You were sent here as a drop of that very light, not to hide in the shadows of their judgment. Even if they hear you, even if they know you are broken, the love that formed you is greater than their listening.

You do not have to perform wholeness for the people on the other side of the door. The armor can drop.

The breath can release. You are not defined by what they hear in the dark; you are defined by the light that refuses to go out.