The Light Loves the Person Wearing the Mask

The afternoon sun is bright, and it makes the mask feel heavy. You are working hard to keep the performance going, terrified that if you stop moving, the people around you will realize there is nothing real underneath and walk away.

But the light does not love the costume. It loves the person wearing it.

There is a voice that says: I know my sheep, and my sheep know me. That knowing happens without the noise, without the doing, without the proof you think you owe them.

You are not a project to be completed for their approval. You are a friend who has already been chosen.

The light is not waiting for you to finish your work before it stays. It is already sitting beside you in the quiet, holding onto the part of you that you are trying to hide.

You do not have to earn the right to be held. The performance is exhausting, but the love is not.

Stop running. The ones who truly see you are not leaving when the music stops.

They are the ones who were waiting for you to sit down.