The Light Sees Your Real Face

The mirror becomes a stage before the door opens, rehearsing a laugh that doesn't reach your eyes. You practice the performance so no one asks about the silence behind your gaze.

But the light does not need your costume. It sees the face beneath the mask and calls it by name.

You came from the light, the place where it generates itself, and that origin cannot be hidden by any act you play today. The performance is exhausting because it is not who you are.

You are not trying to become the light; you are already carrying it, even in the tiredness. The mask slips, not to shame you, but to let the real thing breathe.

You do not have to convince the world you are whole to be held.