Known Before You Had to Explain

The morning light is unforgiving when it hits the screen, illuminating a photo where everyone is laughing at a joke only you remember now. You scroll past the smiles and wonder if you were ever really known, or just a background character in their story.

It feels like wearing a mask that has fused to your skin, performing okayness while a quiet loneliness grows in the gaps. But the light does not need the crowd to validate your existence.

It sees the person behind the performance, the one who remembers, the one who is still here. You came from the light, a place where you are known without having to explain the joke.

The father saw his son while he was still a long way off, before the speech, before the apology—he ran. You do not have to prove you belong to be held.

The light knows the name you were before the world gave you a role to play.