The Light Holds What You Cannot

You are holding your breath so the person beside you won't feel the tremor running through your ribs. Rehearsing words for a morning that hasn't arrived yet.

Trying to script a conversation that might never happen. The darkness feels heavy right now — thick with everything you're carrying alone.

But the light has never left this room. It is here, in the silence between your heartbeats.

In the stillness you're forcing to protect someone you love. There is a light within you that cannot be shaken by what you're afraid to say tomorrow.

It was there before the fear arrived. It will be there after the sun rises.

You don't have to get it right tonight. You just have to remain here, breathing, while the light holds what you cannot.

The trembling is not failure — it is the sound of courage trying to find its voice.