The Light Sees Your Hidden Tears

The house is waking up, and you are holding your breath against the pillow, waiting for the floor to stop creaking so no one asks why your eyes are wet. You are wearing the mask before you even leave the bed—the quiet performance of being okay for the person sleeping beside you.

But the light does not need your composure. It sees the tears you are trying to silence.

There is a truth that lives inside you and will be with you forever, deeper than the role you play when the sun comes up. You do not have to explain your grief to be held by it.

The light is not waiting for you to fix your face; it is already here, in the quiet, knowing exactly what you are carrying. The mask is heavy, but you were made for something lighter.