The Feast Before The Apology

The house is quiet now, and the mask feels heavy enough to break your jaw. You are terrified that if you stop performing, the love will stop too — that your siblings only know the actor, not the person behind the curtain.

But the light does not love a performance. It loves the root.

There was a father who saw his son coming home from a long way off, still covered in the filth of his failure, and he ran before the speech was even rehearsed. The embrace came first.

The feast came before the apology. That same light lives inside you — the part you are hiding is the only part that is real.

Your siblings may love the mask, but the Light knows the face beneath it. And it is not going anywhere.

The act is exhausting, but the truth is already held.