You Are Not The Cure

Tonight, the house is quiet enough to hear the secret wish: that they would stop needing you, so you could finally stop feeling like a failure when you cannot fix them. You carry their pain as if it were a debt you owe, and when the debt remains, you condemn yourself.

But there is a love that does not depend on your ability to solve the unsolvable. The father saw his son while he was still a long way off — before the apology, before the promise to do better — and he ran.

He did not wait for the boy to be fixed. He ran to the broken one.

Your worth is not found in what you can repair. It is found in the fact that you are already held.

The light does not need you to be a savior. It only needs you to be present.

You are not the cure. You are the companion.

And that is enough.