The Armor Hits The Floor

The day ends, and you catch your face in the dark glass of the window. It looks like a stranger's face.

A neutral mask, settled there while you were busy surviving the hours. You do not recognize the eyes staring back.

That distance between you and your own reflection is not a failure. It is the sound of the armor finally hitting the floor.

The performance is over. The light does not need you to smile at it.

It does not need you to rearrange your features into something acceptable. It is already behind the glass, waiting in the quiet.

You are not a stranger to yourself. You are simply someone who has been holding their breath for a very long time.

And now, in the safety of the evening, you are finally allowed to exhale.