You Do Not Have to Perform

The door is locked. The mirror is fogged at the edges.

You are rehearsing the tone of voice that says 'I'm fine' without cracking, practicing the smile that looks like rest but is actually armor. You run the script again: the casual answer, the light laugh, the deflection.

You do this because the world expects a performance, and you are tired of being the one who has to write the play every single morning. But the light does not need your script.

It sees the face behind the mask before you even put it on. It knows the exhaustion of holding up a facade while the world asks how you are.

You do not have to be perfect to be held. You do not have to be okay to be loved.

The light is not fooled by the performance, and it is not disappointed by the fatigue. It waits for you to stop acting.

It waits for you to simply be. The mask is heavy, but you were never meant to wear it forever.