The Light Loves the Face Behind the Mask

The morning light is unforgiving. It catches the wetness on your cheeks before you can wipe it away.

So you rub your face quickly, pretending it was just an itch, a stray eyelash, anything but the grief that leaked out while you were getting ready. You smooth your expression into something acceptable for the world to see.

But the light does not need you to be dry to be near you. It sees the mask you are holding up, and it loves the face behind it even more.

There is a truth that lives in us and will be with us forever, and it knows you are tired of performing okayness. You do not have to convince the light that you are fine.

It already knows the weight you are carrying, and it is not asking you to put it down right now—just to stop hiding it from itself. The performance is for the crowd, but the presence is for you.