Lanterns in the Dark
There’s something about this piece that stops me in my tracks. Maybe it’s the lantern — that small, stubborn light held out toward someone sitting in the dark. Maybe it’s the refusal to wait for the “better” version of a person. Or maybe it’s the quiet insistence that love is not earned by tidying up our shadows, but offered right in the middle of them.
Whatever it is, it speaks to me because I know this kind of love is real. I’ve lived it.
I’ve been the one in the tunnel before — curled inward, unsure if anyone would want to come close to the parts of me that weren’t polished or presentable. And yet, people have. People have walked toward me without flinching, without asking me to be smaller, quieter, or easier. They didn’t wait for me to “fix it” or “get over it.” They didn’t need me to make my pain look pretty. They simply showed up, lantern in hand, and said, “I’m here. As you are.”
That kind of love changes you. Not because it rescues you, but because it refuses to abandon you.
And I’ve been on the other side of this image, too. I’ve held the lantern. I’ve sat with people in their dark without needing to rearrange it. I’ve learned that real compassion isn’t about solving someone’s pain — it’s about honoring it. It’s about saying, “You don’t have to hide from me. I can handle the truth of you.” That’s not weakness. That’s courage. That’s presence. That’s love.
This piece reminds me that the most sacred moments in my life have never been the ones where everything was going well. They’ve been the moments when someone trusted me enough to let me see the unedited version of their story — or when I trusted someone enough to let them see mine. The scars, the shadows, the shattered pieces. All of it.
And the truth is, love that looks away isn’t love at all. Love that stays — that’s the real thing.
Maybe that’s why this image hits so deeply. It’s not aspirational. It’s not theoretical. It’s a mirror. It reflects the kind of love I’ve received, the kind I’ve given, and the kind I still believe in. The kind that doesn’t wait for the light. The kind that walks into the dark and says, “You’re not alone.”
That’s Empathy on the Rocks — raw, unvarnished, and honest enough to hold both the beauty and the bruises of being human.