Held in the Light While You Wait

The morning light hits the kitchen table and turns the scene into a performance you did not rehearse. You stand there, smiling the right smile, nodding at the right time, while inside your chest a silent scream is tearing at the walls.

You watch the discipline unfold and feel your love for them both curdle into helplessness because you have no right to intervene. The mask you wear to get through these hours is heavy, but it is not who you are.

The light sees the person behind the performance—the one who loves enough to hurt without making a sound. There is a truth living inside you that cannot be silenced by protocol or biology.

It knows your name. It knows your place.

And it whispers that your love is not less real just because your hands are tied. You do not have to fix the moment to hold them in the light.

The mask will come off eventually. Until then, the light is holding you both.