The Light Sitting at Your Table

The laugh rises in your throat, bright and easy, but your eyes feel like glass ready to shatter. You are terrified that everyone at the table will see the secret you are carrying beneath the noise.

In this long middle of the day, the mask feels heavy, and the gap between your smile and your soul seems wide enough to fall into. But the light does not need your performance to find you—it is already sitting at the table with you, hidden in the ordinary clatter of plates.

There is nothing concealed that will not be disclosed, yet the light waits for you to be ready, not to be perfect. You are not alone in the pretense; the truth lives in you, quieter than the laughter, steadier than the fear.

The secret does not define you; the light does.