The Light Loves the Mask Too

The morning light hits the glass, and for a second, the face looking back feels like a costume you put on before the coffee brewed. You smile at a coworker, but the eyes behind the smile are somewhere else entirely.

That gap between the mask and the person wearing it is where the exhaustion lives. You are performing okayness while breaking inside.

But the light does not need your performance to find you. It sees the stranger in the window and loves them just as much as the real you.

The mask is heavy, but the light is already underneath it, holding up the weight you are trying to carry alone. You don't have to take the face off to be loved; you just have to remember who is wearing it.