The Light Is Brave Enough For Both

The water runs hot enough to fog the mirror, hiding the face you are about to leave behind. You rehearse the words in the steam, practicing a voice that does not shake, crafting a goodbye that sounds like strength instead of surrender.

But the light does not need your performance. It stands outside the bathroom door, not waiting for you to get it right, but waiting to walk with you into the room where the conversation will happen.

You are not alone in the rehearsing. The same presence that walked through Jerusalem longing to gather its children like a hen gathers her chicks is right there in the humidity, holding you before you even speak.

You do not have to be the brave one today. The light is brave enough for both of you.

The mask can stay on the hook. You are simply loved, exactly as you are, trembling and all.