The Light Finds You Behind the Mask

The fluorescent hum of the office bathroom is loud enough to drown out the lie you are rehearsing. You stare into the mirror, trying to arrange your face into something that looks like 'fine,' but the eyes staring back are exhausted from carrying the weight of the performance.

In this long middle of the day, the gap between who you are and who you pretend to be feels like a canyon you have to jump over every hour. But the light does not need your mask to find you.

It is already there, in the stall, in the fatigue, in the quiet desperation of routine. There is light within a person of light, and it lights up the whole world—even when that world is a tiled room where you are hiding.

You do not have to bring forth a perfect performance to be seen. The light is already shining through the cracks in your composure.

The mask is heavy, but the face beneath it is known.