The Hunger Where The Feast Begins

It is the middle of the day, and the question comes: 'How are you?' The expected answer is a performance of light, a polished 'blessed' that hides the starvation inside. You smile, and the mask feels heavier than the hunger it covers.

But the light does not live in the performance; it lives in the truth you are swallowing. There is a bread you have not tasted yet, a spring that wells up from a place deeper than your exhaustion.

You do not have to convince the world you are full to be held by the one who feeds you. The light sees the empty hands beneath the table and calls them worthy.

You are not failing because you are tired; you are human because you are hungry. The mask is for the crowd, but the hunger is where the feast begins.