The Light Sees You Behind The Mask

The mirror in the bathroom sees the tie you straightened and the smile you practiced, but it cannot see the tremor in your hands. You rehearse the lie—'I'm between opportunities'—because the truth feels too heavy to carry into the office.

But the light does not need your performance; it sees the person behind the mask and loves them without condition. There is a father who saw his son coming home from a long way off, still covered in the dirt of his failure, and he ran before the apology could even be formed.

You do not have to clean yourself up before you are worthy of being known. The mask is for the world, but the light is already inside the room with you, waiting for you to put it down.