The Quiet Sunlight

The quiet sunlight doesn’t announce its arrival— it simply leans against the wall of morning, filling the cracks no one else noticed. It does not chase shadows, just softens them. No battle, no brightness loud enough to burn. It touches the windowpane like a memory you didn’t know you were still holding. Warm, but not urgent. Present, but never demanding. It drapes itself across the cluttered desk, the wilted houseplant, the spine of a book you once meant to finish. And in that golden hush, you remember— how healing often arrives without a sound. How love can simply be the light that stays.