The Light Sees You Without The Mask

The house is quiet now, and the person sleeping beside you feels like a stranger because they are in love with a mask you constructed to keep them close. You lie still, terrified that if you stop performing—if you drop the character you play all day—they would not recognize the real you underneath.

But the light does not need your performance to see you; it sees you clearly in the dark where no one else is looking. There was a woman once who stood behind the teacher, weeping so hard she wet his feet with her tears, and he turned to her and said, 'Your many sins have been forgiven—as your great love has shown.' He did not see her reputation; he saw her love.

The truth you are hiding is not a monster; it is the very thing that makes you capable of being known. You do not have to earn the right to be yourself tonight.

The mask was never the point; the face beneath it was.