The Embrace Before The Apology

The words keep circling in the dark, a confession you never made, rehearsing the apology that might finally let you sleep. You are speaking to the ceiling because the room is too quiet to hold the weight of what you did not say.

But listen — the light does not need your speech to know you. There was a father who saw his son coming home from a long way off.

He ran. Before the apology, before the speech — he ran.

The embrace came first. The feast was prepared before the boy could stumble through his rehearsed lines.

You are waiting for the right words to make you worthy of love, but the love has already arrived. It is sitting on the edge of your bed in this deepest hour.

It does not require your perfection. It only requires your presence.

The silence is not empty; it is full of a mercy that speaks your name before you can speak your shame.