The Light Behind Your Mask

The bathroom door is locked, and you are practicing a sentence you hope will sound like peace. You rehearse the tone.

The smile. The lie that says you are fine.

But the mirror knows the tremor in your hands. It sees the performance cracking.

In this deepest hour, the light does not ask you to go back out there and pretend. It asks you to stop.

There is a truth inside you that existed before the mask was ever painted on. You do not need to manufacture it in the reflection.

You do not need to earn it by getting the answer right. The light is not waiting for your performance to be perfect.

It is already there, in the silence behind your eyes. Split a piece of wood, and the light is there.

Lift up the stone of your shame, and you will find it there. You are not the act you put on for the world.

You are the light that shines even when the room is dark. The mask is heavy, but the face beneath it is held.