The Light Sees Beneath Your Mask

The morning light is harsh on the face you wore when you stumbled. You can still see it—the micro-expression of pity, or worse, amusement—that you imagine someone gave you.

You are wearing it for them now, performing the role of the one who failed, while inside you are breaking. But the light that sees you does not scan for cracks in your performance.

It sees the truth beneath the mask you think you need to survive this room. There is nothing concealed that will not be disclosed—not to shame you, but to set you free from the exhausting work of pretending.

The light is not afraid of your stumble. It is already shining on the part of you that wants to hide.

You do not have to be flawless to be held.