Stop Scrubbing, The Light Sees You

The door clicks shut. The laughter fades.

And you are left with the sink, the mirror, and the raw skin of a face you scrubbed too hard trying to wash off the performance. You thought if you could just get clean enough, the reflection would stop seeing through you.

But the light does not need you to be spotless to see you clearly. It saw you at the party, and it sees you now, trembling over the basin.

There was a man born blind who asked whose sin caused his darkness, and the light said: neither. Your exhaustion is not a punishment.

It is simply the cost of carrying a mask all day. Stop scrubbing.

The face in the glass is not a stranger you need to fix. It is the one the light has been waiting to meet without the costume.

You do not have to earn the right to be looked at. Just stand there.

Let the water run. Let the performance dissolve.

The light is not afraid of your tired eyes.