You Are the Light Behind the Glass

The day ends, and the glass turns into a mirror. You catch your reflection in the dark window and freeze — the face staring back feels like a stranger wearing your skin.

You have spent hours performing, smiling, holding the shape of someone who is fine. But the mask has slipped, and now you are left with the exhaustion of being unknown even to yourself.

The light does not demand you fix this face or pretend it fits better. It simply sits with you in the quiet, waiting for you to stop performing.

There is a name the light calls you that no one else knows — a secret identity written on a white stone that has nothing to do with the stranger in the glass. You are not the reflection you fear.

You are the light that makes the reflection visible.