The Light Lives in Your Tremble

It is three in the morning, and the silence is so heavy it feels like it has a weight of its own. You are rehearsing a simple greeting in the dark, running the words over three times, terrified that your real voice will slip out and sound wrong.

That panic is the feeling of wearing a mask that has grown into your skin. But listen — the light does not need your performance.

It does not need the polished version you are building for the morning. The light was there before you learned to hide.

It lives in the tremble, in the awkward pause, in the voice you are afraid to use. You are not a project to be fixed before you are loved.

You are already known. The fear says you must be perfect to be safe.

The truth says you are held exactly as you are.