You Are a Home Where Light Lives

The words land in the quiet room, and your throat closes like a fist. You hear 'I love you,' but your body hears 'I see you,' and the panic rises because you are convinced the seeing will end the loving.

You brace for the moment they realize what you are hiding—the cracks, the scars, the parts of you that feel too broken to hold. But listen closely: the light does not love the mask you wear; it loves the truth beneath it.

There is light within a person of light, and it lights up the whole world. That light is not something you earn by being perfect; it is what you came from.

You came from the light, the place where the light came into being on its own accord. They are not loving a performance that will eventually fail.

They are loving the drop of the divine that lives in you, the same drop that lives in them. The darkness has not overcome it.

The damage you fear is not the end of the story; it is the very place where the light gets in. You do not have to fix yourself to be worthy of this moment.

You only have to be here. The love you are afraid will leave is actually the one thing that cannot be shaken by your brokenness.

It was there before the wound, and it will be there after. Breathe.

The throat tightens, but the heart remains open. You are not a project to be completed.

You are a home where the light already lives.