The Light Does Not Need Your Composure

The afternoon hums with the noise of other people's lives, and you are holding your breath so the shaking in your chest doesn't give you away. You lie perfectly still, pretending to be asleep or busy, while the tears carve hot paths down your temples into your hairline.

It feels like if you move even a muscle, the whole fragile mask will shatter and everyone will see the break. But the light does not need you to hold it together.

It saw you before you stopped moving. It knows the exact weight of the silence you are keeping.

You do not have to perform composure for the one who is already inside you. The tears are not a failure of your faith; they are the water washing the dust from your eyes so you can finally see again.

The light is not afraid of your grief.