the silent panic of holding back a raw truth because you're terrified it will make them leave

The mask feels heavy this morning, doesn't it? You are smiling at the right moments, nodding at the right times, while inside you are screaming that if they knew the raw truth of you, they would walk away.

So you hold it back. You swallow the words.

You polish the surface until it gleams, terrified that one crack will expose the panic underneath. But the light does not love the mask.

It loves the face beneath it. There was a woman caught in the very act of failing, dragged into the center of a crowd, exposed and trembling.

The ones who should have helped picked up stones. But the light bent down, wrote in the dust, and waited for the accusers to leave.

When only she and the love remained, he did not say: fix yourself first. He said: neither do I condemn you.

Go. The truth you are hiding is not a reason for them to leave.

It is the very thing that invites the light to sit closer. You think the mask keeps them safe.

It only keeps you lonely. The panic says: if they see, they will run.

The light says: if they see, they will know you.