Held in the Light While Falling Apart

The fluorescent lights hum a lie you have to carry all day. You smile at the coffee machine, answer the emails, and pretend the steering wheel wasn't your pillow last night.

The gap between your face and your reality feels wide enough to swallow you whole. But notice the dust motes dancing in the afternoon sun — they do not worry about where they will sleep tonight.

They simply exist, held in the light. You are held in the same way, even here, even now, even with the mask still on.

The light sees the exhaustion behind your eyes and does not ask you to perform. It just sits with you in the cubicle.

You do not have to fix the housing situation by five o'clock. You only have to survive this hour.

The light is sufficient for the middle of the day.