The Light Sitting With You In The Bathroom

The water runs loud tonight, doesn't it? Loud enough to drown out the shaking in your hands, loud enough to hide the sound of what you are trying to wash away.

You think if you flush hard enough, the evidence of who you are will disappear into the dark pipes, leaving you clean for the morning. But the light does not live in the clean parts of your house.

It lives in the wood you split and the stone you lift. It was there before the mistake, and it is there now, sitting with you in the bathroom while the tank refills.

You came from the light, a drop sent to illuminate this very darkness, not to hide from it. The water stops eventually.

The silence returns. And in that quiet, you will find that the thing you tried to destroy was never yours to lose.