The Light Waits Behind Your Teeth

The mask is heavy this morning. You can feel the weight of it in your jaw, where the muscles have locked tight around the sentence you needed to say but swallowed instead.

That unspoken truth has hardened into a stone you are carrying through the day, grinding your teeth against the silence. But listen — the light does not require your performance to see what is real.

It sees the clenched fist, the tight lips, the effort it takes to hold back the flood. There is a space inside you where the stone can be set down, where the jaw can unclench, and where the words you buried can finally breathe.

You do not have to bring them forth perfectly or loudly. You only have to stop pretending they aren't there.

The light is already waiting in the quiet behind your teeth.