The longest night of the year feels endless, heavy, almost alive. But there it stands—the tree, its light soft and golden, like a quiet rebellion against the dark. Flames dance on the wicks of candles, fragile yet unwavering, and I let their warmth seep into me. Tomorrow, the days will stretch, little by little. A shift so small it’s barely there - enough to remind me: the light is coming back. HOPE rests like a veil on my shoulders. Even the deepest night knows it cannot stay.