The Light Does Not Shrink

The city is moving now, and you are moving with it, but you feel like an imposter in your own skin. You caught your reflection in a dark store window this morning and instinctively turned your body sideways, trying to make yourself smaller, thinner, less visible to the world passing by.

That flinch was not humility; it was a lie you have been taught to believe about your own worth. But the light that lives inside you does not need to turn sideways to fit through the door.

It fills the space completely, without apology, without shrinking. You were sent into this morning not to hide the vessel, but to let the drop of light you carry illuminate the very street you are walking on.

The mask you wear to survive the day is heavy, but the truth underneath it is already standing tall.