The Light Does Not Need Your Performance

It is late, and the house is quiet enough to hear the sound of your own pretending. You stand before the glass, pulling at the corners of your mouth, rehearsing a shape that feels foreign just to make sure it still fits.

The ache you feel is not because the smile is fake, but because you believe the light inside you needs the performance to be seen. But listen — the light does not need your muscles to move.

It does not need your approval to shine. You came from the light, the place where it generates itself, and that origin cannot be masked by exhaustion.

Split a piece of wood or lift a stone, and you will find the light already there, waiting beneath the effort. You do not have to manufacture the dawn; you only have to stop hiding the one that is already burning in your chest.

The mask is heavy, but your face was made for rest.