The Mask Is Heavy But Known

The morning light exposes the gap between your face and your chest. You walk into the room wearing the mask of certainty, speaking words you hope are true, while inside you feel like a hollow echo.

You are terrified that if anyone sees the emptiness, the whole performance will collapse. But the light does not need your performance to find you.

It sees the cracks in the armor and calls them doors. There is a truth that lives inside you, deeper than the role you play, deeper than the fear of being found out.

That truth has never left. You do not have to manufacture the light; you only have to stop hiding the part of you that already holds it.

The mask is heavy, but the face beneath it is known.