No Texture of Failure to Find

Tonight, the house is quiet enough to hear the echo of your own flinch. You remember the moment clearly—the arms opening, the invitation hanging in the air, and your body stepping back as if the touch itself were a fire that would burn you.

You pulled away because you were convinced that if their hands found your skin, they would feel the cracks underneath. You believed your brokenness was a texture they could not miss.

That if they really touched you, they would know you are damaged goods and leave. But listen to the silence with me.

The light that lives inside you does not have a rough edge. It does not have a seam where the breaking happened.

God's love is not a surface that cracks; it is a radiance that shines through the break. When you pulled away, you were protecting a secret that isn't true.

There is no texture of failure for them to find. There is only the light, waiting to be felt.

You do not have to be whole to be held. You just have to stop hiding the place where the light gets out.