You Are Known And Still Loved

The morning light feels less like a gift and more like an interrogation lamp. You move through the house holding your breath, terrified that the fabric you wear is too thin, that the shape beneath will give you away.

You perform okayness for the world while praying no one notices the tremor in your hands. But there is a kind of seeing that does not strip you bare to shame you.

The light entered a room once and told the accusers to drop their stones, not because the failure wasn't real, but because the person was more than their worst moment. It sees the mask you wear to get through the day, and it does not demand you take it off before it loves you.

It loves what is behind the performance. You are not a project to be fixed by being exposed.

You are a friend who is already known. The terror says if they see you, they will leave.

The truth says the only one whose opinion matters has already seen everything and is still standing right beside you. You do not have to hold your breath anymore.

The air in this room is safe.