The Light Sees Your Invisible Wound

The afternoon hums with a noise that feels like it's happening behind glass. You sit in the middle of the crowd, smiling at the right moments, nodding at the jokes, while inside you are quietly dying.

No one sees the crack running through your chest. They see the performance.

They do not see the person crumbling beneath it. The light does not need you to hold the mask up any longer.

It is already there, in the hollow ache itself. Jesus stood in the middle of a festival once, surrounded by shouting crowds, and said: 'If anyone is thirsty, let them come to me.' He did not wait for you to look perfect.

He spoke to the thirst. He spoke to the dying part of you that no one else knows about.

You do not have to announce your pain to be held by it. The light sees the invisible wound.

It is not fooled by the crowd. It is standing right beside you, in the noise, in the silence, in the secret place where you are falling apart.