Held in the Quiet When No One Sees

The afternoon hums with a terrible quiet, the kind that settles after you finally stop pretending to be okay. You let the mask slip, just for a moment, revealing the drowning beneath, and the world kept moving.

No one stopped. No one asked.

It feels like screaming into a void where the silence is the only answer. But listen — the light does not need a crowd to notice you.

It saw you then, in that exact second of collapse, when you thought you were invisible. The silence of the room was not the absence of God; it was the space where the light stepped in closer, unseen, holding you up when your own strength gave out.

You were not ignored. You were being held in the quiet.

The mask was never what made you visible anyway.