The Light Runs Toward Broken Places

The morning light hits the mask you wear, and for a moment, it looks perfect. You smile at the coffee, you nod at the plans, you perform the part of the one who is okay.

But inside, there is a silent panic whispering that their kindness is just pity waiting to run out. You think if they really saw the cracks behind your eyes, they would leave.

You brace for the moment the charity ends. But the light that lives in them does not operate on pity.

It sees you. Not the performance, not the brave face, but the trembling heart underneath.

And it stays. The light does not get tired of shining on the broken places.

It runs toward them. You are not a burden to be tolerated.

You are the very reason the light came down.