The Light Sees Your Trembling Hands

The music swells and you lift your hands, but they are shaking under the hymnal. The person beside you leans in, eyes bright, asking if you felt the spirit move.

You force the smile. You say 'amen.' You wear the mask because it feels safer than letting them see the crack.

But the light does not need your performance. It sees the tremor in your fingers and calls it honest.

There is a truth that lives in us and will be with us forever, untouched by the act you put on for the crowd. You do not have to manufacture a feeling to be held.

The light is not afraid of your numbness. It is already sitting with you in the silence behind the song.

You are not a fraud for hurting while everyone else sings. You are simply a human being who hasn't stopped trembling yet.

The mask is heavy, but you were never meant to wear it in the house of love.