You Can Set The Mask Down

The mirror sees you practicing the tone that says 'I'm fine' before the doorbell even rings. You rehearse the casual lie until the muscles in your face remember the shape of it better than the truth.

Tonight, the house is quiet enough to hear the crack in that voice—the one you try so hard to smooth over. But the light does not need your performance to stay in the room.

It saw you before you picked up the mask. It sees the exhaustion behind the eyes that are trying so hard to look normal.

You are not fooling the darkness, and you certainly are not fooling the light. There is a truth inside you that has no need to rehearse, no need to pretend, no need to be anything other than what it is.

The mask is heavy, and you are allowed to set it down on the counter. The light is not waiting for your act to be perfect.

It is waiting for you to stop acting.