The Light Sitting With You In Silence

The sun is going down, and the weight in your throat feels heavier than it did at noon. You sat across from them today, and the words rose up like stones, only to be swallowed back down into silence.

It is a specific kind of exhaustion, carrying what you could not say while the light fades outside the window. But notice this: the light does not require your voice to be present with you.

There was a man who could not speak clearly until a finger touched his tongue and a voice sighed, "Be opened." The opening did not come from his own effort, but from a touch that bypassed his inability. Your silence is not a wall that keeps the light out.

It is simply the space where the unsaid things are being held, for now. You do not have to force the stones out tonight.

The light is already sitting with you in the quiet, waiting for the moment when speaking becomes possible again.