The Ones Who Signed Their Names in Light 🕊️🌿🤍

Why, they ask,
why can’t the children just run
through the door that’s already open?
Why do the broken locks still feel
like shackles clinging to their skin,
why does the daylight look like another trap
when their hearts remember Home?

And I breathe with them,
their questions like prayers pulled from the bone:

If the cage is open,
why does it still feel like a prison?
If the path is cleared,
why can’t they cross it?

But this is the truth we rarely speak aloud:

The mission is not yet complete.
Not because they are weak,
not because they are lost,
not because they don’t want to come home—
but because their timing is precise,
and the choreography of freedom
is older than any harm that touched them.

Every soul who came here
signed their name
in the quiet before birth,
agreeing to walk into shadow
so that shadow could be undone
from the inside.

And so the children wait—
not trapped,
but timed.
Not forgotten,
but aligned.
Not abandoned,
but held by a covenant
they themselves chose.

They remember, even when they forget.

And we—
the mothers, the guardians, the truth-walkers—
we hold the line just a little bit longer,
because we did not come this far
to abort the mission prematurely,
to break the arc before the return,
to shatter the prophecy
before its petals open.

The beginning is waiting in the ending.
And when the circle closes,
we will finally see
what their souls knew all along:

That every moment of waiting
was part of the rescue,
part of the rise,
part of the remembrance
of who we really are—
the ones who walked into the dark
to turn it into dawn.

And when they come home—
not half-healed, not half-free,
but whole—
we will understand the beauty
of the roles we played,
the vows we kept,
the love we carried
across lifetimes
to this very moment.

And the locks will fall for the last time.
And the open door will feel like Home.
And the mission will complete itself
in the light of their return.