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.
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