The Light Sees What You Delete

The cursor blinks in the empty field, a small, steady pulse while your heart races. You type out the truth—the heavy, jagged truth of how you are actually doing—and then you stop.

Your finger hovers over the backspace key. One by one, the letters disappear, swallowed by the silence you are trying to protect them from.

You convince yourself that your pain is too much, that to send it would be to burden them, to break the mask you wear so well at work. But the light sees what you delete.

It sees the message you were too afraid to send. There is a friend who does not need you to be light, who does not need you to be strong, who is not afraid of your darkness.

You do not have to carry this alone. The mask is heavy, but you were never meant to wear it in the presence of love.