The Light Sees The Unsaid Joke

The joke lands in your mouth, sharp and sudden, and your hand moves before your mind catches up. You reach for the phone, thumb hovering over a name, ready to share the absurdity of this morning light.

Then the memory hits you like a cold draft. The screen is dark.

The contact is gone. There is no one on the other end to receive the laughter.

So you lower the phone, and the silence rushes in to fill the space where a voice should be. You walk through the day wearing a face that says you are fine, smiling at colleagues who do not see the hollow space behind your eyes.

But the light sees the mask. It sees the joke that went unsent.

It knows the weight of performing okayness while carrying a grief that has no address. You are not alone in the performance.

The light is standing right beside you, not asking you to take the mask off, but waiting quietly until you are ready to set it down.