The Sun Rises Without Your Permission

The water is loud enough to hide the crack in your voice. You stand there rehearsing the words you will never say, practicing a goodbye that feels like swallowing glass.

But the steam rising around you is not a curtain; it is the first light of dawn, soft and silent, waiting for you to stop performing and just breathe. You do not need to get the speech right.

You do not need to be strong enough to leave or brave enough to stay. The sun has risen without your permission, and its warmth touches your wet face before you have decided what to do next.

The light does not ask for your explanation; it simply holds you while the water runs cold. You are not defined by the words you practice in the dark; you are the quiet space where the morning finds you.