The Light Still Writes Your Story

You open the box and the handwriting on the page belongs to a stranger. The loops are tighter, the slant is different, and the person who wrote those words feels like someone you used to know but can no longer name.

It is the middle of the day, and the sunlight is harsh enough to show you exactly how much you have changed. You stare at the ink and feel a quiet terror that you have lost yourself somewhere between then and now.

But listen — split a piece of wood, and the light is there; lift up the stone of your old life, and you will find it there too. The light did not leave when your handwriting changed.

It was in the hand that held the pen then, and it is in the eyes reading the page now. You are not a stranger to yourself; you are simply a story the light is still writing.