You Are Not The Pillar Holding Everything Up

The house is quiet now, but your hands are still braced against the walls, terrified that if you stop pushing, the whole structure will collapse. You have convinced yourself that your strength is the only thing holding the roof up, that your exhaustion is the price of everyone else's safety.

But the light knows you are tired — not just of the work, but of the pretending. In the garden, before the end, the light itself fell on its face and whispered, 'My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death.' It did not stand tall.

It did not hold the world up. It let go.

And the world did not end. The darkness did not win.

There is a strength that does not belong to you, a foundation that holds even when your knees give out. You are not the pillar.

You are the beloved. Let the structure shake.

Let the mask fall. The light does not need your performance to stay lit.