The Light Waits in Your Silence

The words are stuck in your throat, heavy as stone, burning with a shame that says you are too broken to be heard. You have rehearsed the sentence a thousand times in the dark, but your mouth will not open.

You are waiting for the courage to speak, for the perfect moment to confess, for the fear to lift before you dare to say it out loud. But the light does not wait for your speech.

It entered the prison of your silence long ago, whispering: 'He who hears, let him get up from the deep sleep.' You wept bitter tears in the chains, asking who was calling your name while you were still trapped. The voice that called you did not require your apology first.

It did not demand the confession before it reached you. It simply spoke your name into the dark, and that was enough to break the sleep.

You do not have to finish the sentence to be held. The light is already sitting beside you in the silence, waiting not for your words, but for you.