Let the Mask Fall Tonight

The day is ending, and the armor you wore for twelve hours has finally cooled against your skin. You are safe now, yet you feel nothing.

The hands reaching for you, the voices offering comfort—they seem to bounce off a surface you did not mean to build. You are not broken beyond repair; you are simply numb from the effort of holding the mask together.

The light did not leave when you went silent. It is waiting in the quiet, patient as the moon, knowing that feeling nothing is sometimes the only way to survive the feeling of everything.

You do not need to force your heart to open tonight. Just let the mask fall.

Let it hit the floor. The love you cannot feel right now is still holding you, even in the numbness, even in the dark.