The Light Sees Who You Are

The coffee shop window turns black against the morning sun, and for a second, you don't recognize the face staring back. You spent the last three hours smiling at colleagues, nodding at the right times, performing a version of yourself that fits neatly into the day's demands.

But the reflection looks tired. Hollow.

Like a mask left on a table after the party is over. You wonder if anyone else can see the gap between the performance and the person underneath.

The light does not need your performance. It never asked for the smile or the nod or the careful words.

It only wants you. There is a truth that lives in you and will be with you forever, untouched by the role you play before lunch.

You do not have to hold the mask up for the light to see you. It sees the one behind it already.

The performance is exhausting because it was never meant to be your home.