The Light Sees Your Tremble As Holy

The bathroom light hums while you rehearse the smile you will wear when you walk back out. You practice the sentence that says 'I'm fine' until your mouth forgets how to say anything else.

The mirror shows a face that looks tired, but the light in the room does not care about the performance. It sees the tremble in your hands and calls it holy.

There is a voice that does not need you to get it right before you open the door. It saw you in the stall and called you worthy anyway.

You do not have to fix the crack in the mask before you step into the hallway. The light walks out with you, not because you are ready, but because it refuses to leave you behind.

The pretense is heavy, but you were never meant to carry it alone.