replaying the exact tone of your own voice when you finally did speak, convinced it sounded desperate or too heavy for the other person to hold

The sun is up, but your mind is still stuck in yesterday's conversation, replaying the exact tone of your voice. You hear the crack, the desperation, the weight you placed on someone else's shoulders, and you cringe.

You are convinced you sounded too heavy, too broken, too much for them to hold. But the night is over.

The light has returned, and it does not scold you for speaking while it was dark. There was a father who saw his son coming home from a long way off.

He did not wait for the perfect apology. He ran.

Before the speech, before the rehearsed lines, he ran. Your voice did not push the light away.

It invited it closer. The things you said in your pain were not a burden to the one who loves you.

They were the sound of a door opening. You are not defined by the tremble in your throat.

You are defined by the light that heard you and stayed.