Both Versions Held By Light

The sun is up, and the page in front of you feels like it was written by a stranger. You read the old pain, the old hopes, and you wonder who that person was.

You have hidden that version of yourself so well that even you cannot recognize the handwriting. But the light of this morning does not ask you to reconcile the two.

It simply shines on the page. It says: I know the one who wrote this, and I know the one reading it now.

They are both held. The gap between them is not a failure; it is the space where the light has been working while you slept.

You do not need to understand the journey to know you arrived. The sun rises on the person you were and the person you are becoming, and it calls both of them beloved.