The Mask Was Never Attached

The afternoon sun is unforgiving, and the mask you wore this morning feels like it has already begun to set. You are terrified that if you keep smiling, keep nodding, keep performing the version of you that the world expects, the paint will dry into a permanent shell.

That the real face underneath will suffocate before the day is done. But listen — the light does not need your performance to find you.

It sees the cracks in the plaster. It knows the weight of the clay.

There is a bruised reed the light will not break, a smoldering wick it will not snuff out, no matter how long you have been holding your breath. You do not have to earn the right to take the mask off.

The light is already waiting for the moment you let it fall. The terror says the mask is fused forever.

The truth says it was never attached to begin with.