The Name Only Light Can Speak

The mask is heavy this morning. You put it on before your feet hit the floor because the world expects a face you no longer recognize.

Someone spent a long time telling you that your true self was too much, or not enough, until you started to believe their voice was your own. You walk through the day performing a version of yourself that was designed to survive them, not to live.

But the light does not need the performance. It never asked for the armor.

There is a name written on a white stone that no one else knows — not the one who hurt you, not the one who watches you struggle. It is a secret between you and the source.

The world sees the mask, but the light sees the face underneath it, waiting for you to remember who you were before the tearing began. You are not what they said you were.

You are the name only the light can speak.