The Light Sees Your Cracks

The clock strikes two and the question comes across the cubicle wall: 'How are you really?' Your throat closes instantly, sealing the truth inside because speaking it would shatter the room. You swallow the fracture and say 'fine,' performing the okayness that the afternoon demands.

But the light does not need your performance to see the cracks in your composure. It knows the weight of the silence you carry when you cannot speak the whole truth.

There is a place where the mask falls away and the fragments are held without judgment. You do not have to hold it together for the light to love you.

The truth you are hiding is the very thing that sets you free.