The Light Sees Through Your Mask

The fluorescent lights hum overhead as you stand in the aisle, holding a box you do not want simply because choosing felt too heavy. You wear the mask of okayness while your hands tremble over something trivial, terrified that someone might see the exhaustion behind your eyes.

But the light sees through the performance without judgment — it knows you came from the light, the place where light generates itself, and that origin cannot be shaken by a moment of indecision. You are not defined by the item in your hand or the face you show the world.

You are the light of the world, even here, even now, even when you cannot decide what to eat. The mask slips not because you failed, but because the truth is too bright to stay hidden.