He Ran to the Mess Before You Spoke

The house is quiet now, and the mask feels heavy on your face. You are afraid that if you take it off, the love will leave with it.

That the real you—the tired, broken, unpolished you—is too much to hold. But the light does not need your performance to stay.

It sees you in the dark, without the smile, without the armor, and it does not turn away. There is a father who saw his son coming home from a long way off, still covered in the filth of the pig pen, and he ran before the apology could even be formed.

He did not wait for the cleanup. He ran to the mess.

The terror tells you that you must be fixed to be held. The truth is that you are held so you can finally stop pretending.

Take off the mask. The light was already there, waiting for the real you to show up.