The Light Waiting in the Passenger Seat

The engine hums, but you are parked in the silence between where you've been and where you're supposed to be next. You stare at your own eyes in the rearview mirror and rehearse the line: 'I'm fine.' It sounds convincing until the engine cuts.

The world expects you to keep moving, to perform the normalcy of the afternoon while your chest feels like a hollow room. But the light does not need your performance.

It is already sitting in the passenger seat, waiting for you to stop pretending. The truth is not that you have to fix everything before you arrive.

The truth is that you are known exactly as you are, right here in the driveway. You do not have to carry the mask into the building.

The light sees behind it, and it loves what it finds.