Light Does Not Check Your History

The sun is just finding the edge of the roof, turning the gray into gold. You are holding a phone heavy with words that used to feel like home, tracing the exact sentence where the warmth turned to ice.

It hurts to see how quickly a voice can become a stranger's. But look at the light coming through the window — it does not check the history of the room before it enters.

It simply arrives. The rising sun comes to shine on those living in darkness, not because they deserve it, but because light does what light does.

It rises. The cold you feel is real, yet it cannot stop the morning from breaking.

The light is already here, waiting for you to put the phone down and let it warm your hands. You made it through the night; now let the day begin without the weight of who left.