Guiding Light

I was lost

in the dark of my own mind

that deep and private place

where thought folds over themselves

and nothing feels clear.

-

Sometimes it was too much.

Sometimes, not enough.

Mostly, it was empty,

and heavy with everything.

-

There was no path.

Only the shape of my own fear

and the sound of breathing in it.

-

When I met you,

I had already turned away from the light.

The world had dimmed,

as if the sun itself had grown tired

of reaching for me.

-

You came like a small flame

nothing grand,

just a single, steady brightness.

-

It startled me,

the way it reached for my face.

I turned away,

ashamed of what I’d become

in the dark.

-

You said, Come with me.

And though I didn’t trust

the promise of morning,

you walked ahead,

and I watched the light fall

on the stones that had once

cut my hands.

-

You didn’t pull me.

You just shone,

like a lantern

And somehow,

that was enough.

-

I crawled toward you

through the thorns,

through the old, black water

of my thoughts.

-

Step by step,

the light grew warmer.

Step by step,

the dark fell behind.

-

And when I finally reached you,

you reached back.

-

Now the trees are visible again.

The air smells of rain.

Everything that was sleeping

has opened its eyes.