The Light Sees You Behind The Mask

The house is quiet now, but your face still hurts. The muscles ache from holding a shape that wasn't yours, a smile you wore to keep the world at bay while you were breaking inside.

You thought you could take the mask off when the door closed, but the ghost of it lingers. The performance has ended, yet your body hasn't received the memo to stop acting.

In the silence of this watch, the exhaustion finally catches up. It feels like a failure to be this tired.

But listen — the light does not need your face to be arranged in happiness to recognize you. It saw you behind the grin before you ever took it off.

The ache is not proof that you are broken. It is proof that you are finally, safely, allowing the pretense to drop.

The light is not waiting for you to smile again. It is sitting with you in the slackening, in the honest, unguarded dark.