The Light Beneath Your Mask

The coffee cup is warm in your hand, but your skin feels too tight, like a costume you forgot how to take off. Someone calls your name across the room, and for a split second, you freeze—convinced they are speaking to a stranger, not the imposter wearing your face.

You smile, you nod, you perform the part of the person who has it together, while inside you are holding your breath, waiting for the mask to slip. But the light that lives in you does not care about the performance you put on for the morning crowd.

It sees the exhaustion behind the eyes and loves the person hiding there anyway. You do not have to earn the right to be called by your name today.

The voice that speaks to you already knows who you are beneath the armor. You are not the mask you wear to survive the day.

You are the light that shines even when you feel like a fraud.