You Are a Child to Be Held

The sun has gone down, and the silence of the house feels heavy with everything you didn't say today. You are already rehearsing the apology for tomorrow — the sorry for taking up space, the sorry for existing before you even speak.

The darkness gathers, and it whispers that you are too much trouble to be loved as you are. But listen — there is a light that does not need you to shrink.

It entered the world not to judge your footprint, but to shine on those living in the shadow of death. You do not have to earn your place at the table by apologizing for your hunger.

The light sees the mask you wear to make others comfortable, and it loves the face beneath it more than you can imagine. Tonight, put down the speech you wrote to justify your breath.

You are not a burden to be managed. You are a child to be held.