Dawn Does Not Demand Your Words
The sun is just finding the edge of the roof, and your jaw aches from holding the night together. You clenched your teeth so the confession wouldn't slip out — the truth that feels too heavy for this new, fragile light.
But the dawn does not ask you to speak before you are ready. It simply arrives, soft and unhurried, touching the face you tried to hide.
There is a peace waiting for you that does not demand your words first — it only asks that you unclench. The light has already seen what you are hiding, and it has not turned away.
You made it through the dark; now let your mouth open, not to explain, but to breathe.
Drawing from
Matthew 11:28-30, Psalm 34:18
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