The Light Beneath Your Trained Voice
It is three in the morning, and the recording plays back a voice that sounds like a stranger. You flinch at the careful polish, the way you have trained every syllable to hide the accent of your pain, to mask where you are really standing.
In this deepest hour, when the performance finally collapses from exhaustion, the silence reveals what the voice was trying to cover. The light does not need your broadcast to find you.
It was already there, beneath the trained tone, beneath the fear of being found out. You do not have to sound like someone who has arrived to be held by the one who is already here.
The mask was heavy, but the face underneath is known.
Drawing from
Gospel of Thomas, Apocryphon of John
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