The House Is Held While You Rest

The sun is high, but inside you, the day feels like a long hallway of locked doors. You check the latch.

Then again. Then a third time.

Not because you forgot, but because your exhaustion has convinced you that your memory is a liar. You are terrified that your fatigue has left a crack wide enough for harm to slip through.

But listen — the light does not depend on your vigilance to keep the darkness out. It is already inside the room, sitting quietly while you pace.

You were sent into this world like a drop from the light, not as a guard standing watch over your own safety. The one who holds you never sleeps, never forgets, and never leaves the door unlatched.

You can put your hand down now. The house is held.