The Joy Remains Yours To Keep

The sun is up, and the mask is already on. You woke with a small joy in your chest—a song, a color, a quiet victory—and your hand moved before your mind did.

It reached for the phone. It reached for the one place that used to hold you.

But the number is now a door you are not allowed to open. The silence that follows is loud enough to break the morning.

You stand there, holding a gift with nowhere to give it. The light does not scold you for reaching.

It knows the habit of love is harder to break than the habit of sin. There is a saying that the kingdom is inside you, and it is outside you.

Right now, it feels like it is nowhere. But the joy you felt was real.

It did not vanish because the recipient is gone. That light was yours before you dialed.

It remains yours now that you cannot. The grief is the tax on having loved deeply.

Pay it. But do not let the closed door convince you the house is empty.

You are still the place where the joy lives.