The Light Meets You in the Dirt

The water roars so no one else hears you break. You stand in the steam, letting the noise swallow the sound of your own grief because the walls are thin and the people you love are just on the other side.

You think you are hiding the truth from them. But the light sees you standing there, soaked in silence, holding it all in so the house stays quiet.

There was a man who carried a similar weight, overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death, asking if the cup could pass while his friends slept nearby. He did not pretend the darkness wasn't heavy.

He fell on his face. And the light did not scold him for the tears.

It met him in the dirt. You do not have to be strong for the light to hold you.

The water masks the sound, but it cannot hide the heart. The light is not fooled by the noise, and it is not disappointed by the crying.

It is simply present, standing in the steam with you, waiting for the moment you can put the weight down.