The Father Runs Before You Speak
The water is still running, but the words you rehearsed are gone, washed down the drain because they felt too heavy to carry into the room. You stand in the quiet, towel around your shoulders, feeling the silence press against your chest where the confession used to be.
There was a father who saw his son coming home from a long way off. He ran.
Before the apology, before the speech — he ran. The light does not wait for your words to land perfectly on the floor.
It meets you in the dripping silence, where the weight has already been lifted by the water. You do not have to speak to be held.
The silence is not empty; it is full of the embrace you were too afraid to ask for.
Drawing from
Luke, John
Verses
Luke 15:20, John 14:27
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