There are moments in life when we become strangers to ourselves. When the weight of everything we carry brings us to our knees, and the world grows so quiet that even hope feels like a distant memory. We stop searching for a way out. We stop asking why. We simply exist, somewhere between what has broken us and what remains. And perhaps that is where the light finds us. Not when we are strong, nor when we have finally put ourselves back together, but when we have nothing left to hide behind. When our wounds are exposed, our defenses fall silent, and we can no longer pretend that we were never hurting. The light does not always come to save us. Sometimes, it comes only to remind us that even here, in the depths of our darkness, we have not disappeared. Perhaps healing is not about returning to who we were before the pain. Perhaps it is learning to see beauty in the person we became because of it. Because sometimes, we don't find the light. We simply survive long enough for it to find us.