The Light Sees You Behind The Mask

The clock on the wall is ticking louder than your heartbeat. You whisper that you are not okay, and you watch their eyes slide past your face to check the time.

The mask is heavy this morning. It feels like a second skin you cannot peel off without bleeding.

But the light does not need your performance to see you. It sees the tremor in your hands before you hide them.

It knows the weight you carry while you smile. There is a peace that does not look like the world's peace — a quiet that exists even when the room is loud.

You do not have to hold the mask together for the light to love you. It is already sitting beside you in the silence you are trying to hide.

The struggle is real, but the light is realer.