The Light Sits Beside You on the Floor

The water is running to cover the sound, but the mirror sees everything. You stand there, face wet, watching your own reflection crumble while the house moves on outside the door.

It feels like you are the only one holding this much weight, the only one who cannot stop the shaking. But look closer at the eyes staring back — they are not alone in that glass.

The light that walked through Gethsemane, falling on its face in the dirt and begging for the cup to pass, is already in the room with you. It did not come to dry your tears before you were ready.

It came to sit on the cold tile floor beside you while you cry. You do not have to fix your face before you open the door.

You do not have to wash off the grief to be loved. The light is not afraid of your reflection.