Rest When Your Hands Drop

The afternoon light is heavy, and so is the mask you wear to get through it. There comes a moment when you stop correcting the version of yourself they have invented, simply because you are too tired to fight.

You let them believe the lie. You let them see the performance instead of the person.

But the light does not need your defense to exist. It was there before the misunderstanding began, and it remains even when you are silent.

The kingdom grows like a seed in the dark, whether you are awake to tend it or asleep from exhaustion. You do not have to prove who you are to be who you are.

The light is not a debate you must win. It is the ground you stand on when you finally stop arguing.

Rest now, not because the work is done, but because the light holds you even when your hands drop.