The Dawn Rises Before You Are Perfect

The sun is just beginning to touch the edge of the curtain, and you are lying here holding your breath, convinced that your unedited thoughts are too dangerous to be heard. You believe that if the person beside you knew the noise inside your head, they would leave.

But the light does not require you to be edited to be loved. It does not ask you to clean up the mess before it enters the room.

There is light within a person of light, and it lights up the whole world—even the parts you try to hide in the dark. You came from the light, the place where the light came into being on its own accord, and that origin cannot be canceled by a stray thought or a secret fear.

The dawn is not waiting for you to be perfect before it breaks. It rises anyway, spilling gold over the floor, over the bed, over you exactly as you are.

The silence you are keeping is not protecting them; it is only isolating you. You do not have to earn the right to take up space beside them today.

The light is already here, and it knows everything, and it has not rolled over and walked out.