When the Script Runs Out

The afternoon asks its usual question: 'How are you?' And for the first time today, the script runs out. The automatic 'I'm fine' sticks in your throat because you realize you have no answer left that fits the moment.

The mask feels heavy, glued to skin that is tired of performing okayness while everything inside is trembling. You stand in the middle of the day, exposed, with nowhere to hide and no rehearsed line to save you.

But listen — the light does not need your performance. It never asked for the script.

It was waiting for the moment you stopped pretending. The silence you fear is not a void; it is the only place where the truth can finally breathe.

God is light; in him there is no darkness at all, and that means there is no shadow deep enough to hide the real you from the one who already knows.