Rest Beneath the Mask You Wear

The morning asks for a performance you are too tired to give. You edit your laughter before it leaves your throat, sanding down the edges so it doesn't sound too loud, or too broken, or too much like the truth.

You become a mask that smiles while the person behind it is quietly unraveling. But the light does not need your polished noise.

It saw you in the secret place before you ever stepped into the office. It knows the sound of your unedited cry.

Go home to your room, close the door, and let the Father who sees what is done in secret reward you with the one thing you cannot fake: rest. You do not have to hold the smile together for the light to love you.

It loves the face beneath the mask.