The Light Knows Your Tremor Already

The lock clicks, and suddenly the mirror is the only thing in the world that knows how tired you are. You practice the neutral face.

You smooth the tremor from your jaw until the reflection looks like someone who is holding it together. But the light does not need the mask to find you.

It is already there, in the tile, in the glass, in the silence behind the door. You do not have to bring forth a perfect version of yourself to be seen.

If you bring forth what is within you — even the shaking, even the fear — it will save you. The performance is what exhausts the soul.

The truth is what sets it free. You are not hiding from the light in this bathroom; you are hiding from the fact that the light already knows the tremor and loves the person behind it.