You Are the Light in the Hallway

The door is closed. The laughter behind it sounds like a language you forgot how to speak.

You stand in the hallway, rehearsing a smile that feels like a mask made of glass—terrified that if you walk in, they will see the hollow space where your joy used to be. But listen.

The light does not require you to perform belonging. It does not ask you to manufacture a laugh to prove you are worthy of the room.

There is a truth that lives inside you, quiet and unshakable, that was there before the first joke was told and will remain after the last guest leaves. You do not need to earn your place in the dark.

The light is already in the hallway with you. It is not waiting for you to be loud.

It is waiting for you to be real. You are not an outsider trying to get in.

You are the light that makes the room visible.