Held Together in the Breaking

The water runs loud because the silence in the next room feels too heavy to bear. You stand there shaking, letting the steam hide the tears, convinced that if they hear you falling apart, they will walk away.

But the light does not need you to be quiet to stay close. It heard the cry before the water turned on.

It is not repelled by your grief; it is drawn to the place where you are breaking. You do not have to mask the sound to be held.

The water will stop eventually, but the presence waiting for you on the other side of the curtain does not depend on your composure. You are not falling apart alone; you are being held together in the very place you think no one can see.