Put Down the Bag You Never Needed

The sun is setting, and the day is finally done. You set the bag down by the door—the one you packed for a departure that was cancelled years ago.

You still check the straps. You still wonder if you should add one more thing, just in case the call comes tonight.

But the journey you were bracing for never happened. The door closed, and you stayed.

Thomas whispers that you came from the light, a place where light generates itself on its own accord. You did not come from the emergency exit.

You came from the source. The bag is heavy with ghosts of roads you never walked.

Put it down. The light that generated you is already here, in this room, in this quiet evening.

You are not waiting to leave. You are waiting to realize you never had to go.