Light Scans Wounds To Heal

The morning light feels harsh today, exposing the crack you tried to hide behind a smile. You flinched when they looked at you, and now you are convinced they saw the whole ugly truth of your instability.

You avoid their eyes, certain that one glance would confirm your fear: that you are broken beyond repair. But listen — the light does not scan for flaws to expose; it scans for wounds to heal.

There was a man born blind, and the question on everyone's lips was who sinned to make him this way. The light answered: neither.

His condition was not a verdict; it was a canvas. The same applies to the tremor in your hands.

What you call instability, the light calls the space where its work will be displayed. You are not being scrutinized.

You are being prepared. The mask you wear is heavy, but the face beneath it is already known and already held.