The Light Lives in Your Hollow Places

The house is quiet now, and the smile you wore all day has finally fallen from your face. It feels heavy, that mask of okayness you carried through every meeting and hallway conversation.

You laughed when they laughed, nodded when they spoke, but inside you were hollow, a room with the lights turned off. You are exhausted from holding the door shut against what you really feel.

But listen — the darkness gathering outside your window cannot extinguish the light that lives in the hollow places. The light does not need your performance to survive.

It was there before the smile, and it is there now, in the silence, waiting for you to stop pretending. You do not have to be full to be held.

The light is already shining in the very parts of you that feel empty.