Known in the wreckage of your fatigue

The jar is empty. You hold it anyway, pretending the bitterness was never what you wanted, just so no one sees how your hands are shaking too hard to ask for help.

In this hour, the mask feels heavier than the exhaustion itself. But listen — the light does not need you to be full to see you.

It sees the secret thing you do in the dark, and it does not turn away. There is a strength inside you that is not your own, waiting to be remembered when your legs give out.

You came from the light, the place where it generates itself, and you are still that child even when you have nothing left to give. The performance is over.

The pretending is done. You are known, exactly as you are, standing in the wreckage of your own fatigue.