The Light Sees Your Crack

The crack appeared right in the middle of the sentence. You felt the floor drop, so you built a bridge out of a joke just to keep walking.

Now the afternoon stretches out, heavy with the effort of holding the mask in place while the world keeps moving. You are exhausted from performing okayness when you are barely holding on.

But listen — the light does not need your performance to find you. It saw the crack before you tried to hide it.

It saw the tremble in your hands and the lie you told to cover the break. And it did not turn away.

The light is not waiting for you to be seamless. It is walking beside you in the messy, patched-up reality of this hour.

You do not have to be perfect to be held. You only have to be real.