The Light That Loves Your Cracks

The afternoon is a long, quiet room where you hold your face together so no one sees the cracks. You smile at the desk, you nod in the hallway, you perform the ordinary while feeling like you are dissolving from the inside out.

It is exhausting to carry the weight of a mask that no one asked you to wear. But there is a light that does not need your performance to see you.

It knows the weariness behind your eyes before you even speak. 'My peace I give you,' the voice says, 'not as the world gives.' The world gives peace only when everything looks perfect.

This peace arrives in the middle of the unraveling. You do not have to fix your face for the light to love you.

It is already sitting with you in the quiet collapse. The mask is heavy, but you were never meant to carry it alone.