The Light Sitting on the Edge

The sun is rising, painting the sky in colors that promise a new day, yet your hand still remembers the warmth that is no longer there. You reach across the cold sheets and find only the empty space where a life once rested.

It feels like the light has left the room, like the dawn is a lie told to people who still have someone to wake up beside. But listen — the cold you feel is not the absence of God.

It is the echo of a love that was real, a love that proved the light can dwell in human hands. That love did not vanish when the breathing stopped.

It simply changed shape. The same light that lived in their touch now lives in your grief, holding you when you cannot hold anything else.

You are not alone in this empty bed. The Light is here, sitting on the edge of the mattress, waiting for you to open your eyes to a morning that feels different but is still held.