The Light Needs No Perfect Words

The sun is coming up, and you are still rehearsing the speech. You have practiced the exact words a hundred times in the dark, trying to make the leaving sound gentle, trying to make the breaking sound like love.

But looking at their sleeping face, every version of the sentence feels like a lie. You are afraid that when they wake up, the light in the room will not be enough to hold the weight of what you have to say.

Yet the light does not need your perfect explanation to be present. It was shining on their face before you arrived, and it will remain long after you have gone.

The words you are crafting are heavy, but the light underneath them is weightless. You do not have to get the speech right for the love to be real.

The light is already there, waiting in the silence between your fear and their waking.