The Light Waits Behind Your Mask

The house is quiet now, but your mind is loud with rehearsal. You practice the smile.

You polish the lie. 'I'm fine,' you whisper to the empty room, just so you won't crumble when someone asks tomorrow.

The mask feels heavy when there is no one left to see it. But listen — the light does not need your performance.

It has no interest in your polished words. It stands at the door of your heart and waits for the truth.

Not the speech you prepared. Just the silence behind it.

There is a name the light calls you that no one else knows — a secret identity hidden beneath the ache. You do not have to hold the door open with your own strength.

The light is already inside, sitting with you in the dark, keeping watch while you rest.