typing a reply to that same text, forcing your fingers to form words of affection that your heart cannot feel, terrified they will see through the performance

The Light Beneath Your Mask

The cursor blinks, waiting for words your heart cannot find. You type affection you do not feel, terrified they will see the performance behind the screen.

But the light that lives in you does not demand a show. It sees the exhaustion of pretending to be okay.

There is a peace that does not depend on your ability to perform it. A peace that waits for you to stop typing and just breathe.

You are not your mask. You are the light beneath it.

Drawing from

John, Gospel of Thomas

Verses

John 14:27, Gospel of Thomas 3

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