The Light Knows Your Name

The morning light is harsh on the performance. You put the mask on before your feet hit the floor, terrified that if you finally take it off, no one will recognize the person underneath.

You have worn it so long you fear you've forgotten who you are. But the light does not need your costume to see you.

It sees the face behind the face. There was a woman caught in the act, surrounded by a crowd ready to define her by her worst moment.

The light bent down, waited for the noise to stop, and spoke to her alone. Neither do I condemn you.

The mask is heavy because it was never meant to be your skin. You do not have to remember who you are right now.

You only have to stop hiding. The light already knows your name.