The Light Loves the One Hiding

The afternoon demands a performance you do not have the energy to give. You speak, and your voice sounds steady, normal, even calm to the person across from you.

But inside, the floor has dropped out. You are holding up a sky that has already collapsed.

This is the specific exhaustion of the middle hours—the gap between how you look and how you feel. You wonder if the light is angry at the mask.

It is not. The light knows exactly what it costs to keep speaking when you are falling apart.

There is a presence that sees behind the performance and does not ask you to drop the act right now. It simply sits with you in the silence between your words.

You do not have to be real to be held. The light loves the one who is hiding, just as much as the one who is healed.