The Light Loves the Person Wearing It

The day is ending, and the mask you wore for twelve hours feels heavy enough to crush you now. You are terrified that if anyone saw the real you—the quiet, empty spaces underneath the performance—they would turn and walk away.

But the light does not love the costume; it loves the person wearing it. There is a truth that lives in you and will be with you forever, deeper than any impression you could ever make on another soul.

You do not have to manufacture substance to be held. The light sees the hollow places and calls them home, not hiding spots.

Put down the act. The only thing substantial enough to keep anyone from leaving is already sitting right there in your silence.