The Light Waits in the Dark Car

The engine is off, but the silence is loud. You are sitting in the driveway, staring at your own eyes in the rearview mirror, trying to scrub the fake laugh off your face before you walk inside.

It feels like a mask has fused to your skin, and the exhaustion is heavier than the day itself. But notice this — the light does not ask you to keep the performance going.

It saw the weariness in the garden, the soul overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death, and it did not turn away. It meets you right here, in the dark car, with the makeup still on and the smile still stuck.

You do not have to clean yourself up to be loved. The light is already sitting in the passenger seat, waiting for you to stop pretending.

The struggle is not that you are hiding; the struggle is that you think you have to.