Known When She Cannot See You

The afternoon stretches out, long and gray, filled with the quiet desperation of routine. You sit beside the person who gave you your name, watching her eyes slide past your face as if you are a stranger in a crowded room.

The mask of okayness you wear for the world feels heavy now, a performance you no longer have the energy to sustain. But listen — the light does not depend on being recognized to be real.

It was there before she knew your name, and it remains even when her memory fails. The love that formed you is not stored in her mind; it is the very ground you stand on.

You are not defined by her inability to see you today. The light sees you perfectly, even in this middle hour where nothing seems to change.

You are known completely, even when you feel invisible.