The Light Lives Inside Your Cracks

The faucet runs. The water is cold.

You splash your face, lift your head, and the stranger in the mirror looks entirely too normal. Their eyes are dry.

Their posture is steady. They look like someone who slept, while you feel like glass shattering in slow motion behind the ribs.

You hate them for it. You hate the calm surface when the interior is a storm.

But look closer. That reflection is not a lie.

It is the first light of dawn hitting the water, revealing what was there all along. The light does not care that you feel broken.

It shines on the shattered pieces just as brightly as it shines on the whole. You did not have to fix yourself before the sun came up.

You just had to wake up. The face you see is the one the light chose to dwell in.

Wash it. Dry it.

Step out. The world needs the light that lives inside the cracks.