You Do Not Have to Convince the Dawn

The mirror is the first battlefield of the morning. You stand there in the quiet, rehearsing the curve of a smile that says 'I am fine,' practicing the lift of a chin that says 'I can carry this.' You are building a mask before the sun is even up, terrified that if they see the real you, they will walk away.

But the light does not need your performance. It saw you in the bathroom stall, in the kitchen dark, before the armor went on.

It knows the weight you are hiding behind those eyes. You do not have to convince the dawn that you are worthy of the day.

The sun rises on the exhausted and the pretending alike. You can put the mask down.

The one who meets you at the door already knows the truth, and loves what is behind it anyway.