The Light That Knows Your Becoming Name

The afternoon light is harsh, exposing the gap between the face you wear for the world and the silence inside your chest. Your mother touches your cheek, calling you by the name she gave you, and you let her believe the person she sees is still there.

But you know the truth: that version of you is gone, buried under the weight of what you have survived. You are performing a resurrection you do not feel, smiling while your soul screams in the quiet.

Yet the light does not demand you fix the mask or explain the absence. It simply sits with you in the middle of this long, exhausting day.

It knows the name you were given, but it also knows the name you are becoming in the dark. The person you were may be gone, but the light that lived in them is still here, waiting for you to stop pretending.