You Do Not Have to Hold Yourself Together

The afternoon stretches out, a long middle where the mask feels heaviest. You are terrified that if you slip, if a single moment of ordinary need breaks through your guard, everyone will leave.

As if your hunger is a burden too heavy for them to carry. But listen — the light does not run when you stumble.

It does not wait for you to be whole before it stays. You came from the light, a drop sent to illuminate this very darkness.

And when the crack appears, when the need spills out, the light does not turn away. It leans in.

It calls you by name. The terror says: hide your brokenness or you will be abandoned.

The truth says: your brokenness is the only thing that makes you visible. You do not have to hold yourself together to be held.