Wash the Dust, Remember Your Face

The morning light hits the glass, and for a second, you see it—the face you've been wearing without knowing. A mask of permanent waiting.

You didn't choose this expression, yet here it is, settled deep in the muscle, as if your life is just a long pause before something else begins. But the light does not ask you to wait for it to arrive.

It is already here, pressing against the window from the other side. There is a truth inside you that was placed there before the waiting started, and it refuses to stay buried.

If you bring forth what is within you, what you bring forth will save you. The face in the glass is not your final shape; it is just the dust of the road, waiting for you to wash it off and remember who you are.