The Light Loves Your Breaking Face

The mirror is cold at this hour. You stand before it, forcing the corners of your mouth up, practicing a shape that feels foreign on your face.

You are checking to see if the mask still fits, if it still looks real enough to fool the world outside. But in the deep silence of this room, the ache of the performance is the only truth you can feel.

You are tired of holding the expression. You are tired of being the one who has to prove they are okay.

Stop. Put your hands down.

The light does not need your smile to find you. It does not require you to be happy, or whole, or even awake.

It is already inside the fatigue. It is the quiet presence beneath the act.

You do not have to manufacture joy to be held. The light loves the face you make when no one is watching—even when that face is breaking.