The Dawn Holds Your Trembling Hands

The sun is up, but your hands are still holding the shape of yesterday's blow. You feel the phantom vibration of their flinch vibrating in your own palms, hours later, as if the shockwave never dissipated.

It feels like you are carrying the impact alone, like the bruise belongs only to you. But look at the light filling the room right now — it does not ask permission to enter.

It simply arrives, silent and steady, refusing to be shaken by what happened in the dark. The rising sun comes to shine on those living in darkness and in the shadow of death, guiding feet that still feel the tremor into the path of peace.

You do not have to steady your own hands to be held. The light is already holding them.

The tremor is real, but so is the dawn.