When the darkness holds you,
do not flinch,
for it does not come to swallow,
but to cradle what the light has burned.

It hums in whispers,
songs the sun could never sing —
of rest,
of quiet,
of wounds that bloom unseen.

Here, the shadows breathe
in rhythm with your heart,
learning the language of your sorrow
without asking you to speak.

Let it wrap around your tired bones,
gentle as dusk on forgotten fields.
In its arms, you are not lost —
you are finally found
by something that does not demand
your light to stay alive.