The Light Sees Your Scars

It is three in the morning, and you are still rehearsing the story. The casual lie about how you got the scars so no one asks the real question.

You polish the explanation until it sounds like an accident, until it sounds like nothing. But the light does not need your cover-up.

There was a woman once who poured perfume on feet she did not deserve to touch, weeping until her tears were the only water she had. And the voice in the room said her many sins were forgiven—as her great love had shown.

The forgiveness came before the cleanup. It came before the explanation.

The light sees the scar and does not flinch. It sees the story you are hiding and does not turn away.

You do not have to bring forth the perfect version of yourself to be held. Bring forth the broken one.

Bring forth the one who is tired of lying. What you keep buried in the dark is the very thing that will save you if you let it see the light.

The lie is heavy. The truth is lighter.

Put down the script. The night is deep, but you are not alone in it.

The story you are afraid to tell is the one that sets you free.