The Face Made to Be Loved

The afternoon light hits the glass, and for a moment, your own face looks like a stranger's mask. You have worn the expression so long—the one that says 'I am fine,' the one that nods at the right times—that you cannot remember what lies beneath it.

The performance has become the skin. But the light does not need your face to be arranged just so.

It saw you before you learned to smile for the crowd. There is a truth inside you that exists before the expression, before the act, before the exhaustion of holding it all together.

You do not have to perform for the light. It already knows the shape of you when no one is watching.

Take off the mask. The face underneath is the one that was made to be loved.