The Light Turning Weight Into Breath

The sun is up, but that lie is still sitting in your throat like a stone you swallowed to keep someone from leaving. You told it to hold them close, and now the morning light feels like it's exposing the weight of it.

But the light does not come to crush you for the shape of your survival. It comes to ask the question it asked Peter on the beach: do you love me?

Not to shame the denial, but to replace it. Three times he was asked, and three times the love was reinstated.

Your lie was a desperate reach from a sinking heart, like Peter stepping out of the boat and beginning to go under. Immediately, the hand was there.

The truth is not a weapon to beat you with; it is the hand that catches you before you drown. You do not have to cough the stone up alone.

The light is already in your throat, turning the weight into breath.