Stop Sanding Down Your Soul

The afternoon light is flat and honest, exposing the dust motes dancing in the air and the quiet desperation of the routine. You are editing the message again, stripping out the raw edges of your need until the words look safe enough to send.

You are afraid that if they see how much you require them, they will walk away. But the light does not ask you to be low-maintenance or easy to love.

It sees the version of you that is hungry, and it does not flinch. There is a voice that says, 'I am willing,' reaching out to touch the parts of you that you consider unclean or too heavy.

You do not have to sand down your soul to fit through the door. The light is not looking for a performance of independence; it is looking for the truth of your hunger.

Stop deleting the parts of yourself that ache. Send the whole thing, or say nothing at all, but stop pretending the need isn't there.

The mask you wear to get through the middle of the day is not what connects you to anyone. It is the crack in the mask where the light gets in.