The Light Holds Your Trembling Hands

The neighbor asks how you've been, and the words 'keeping busy' slide out smooth and bright, even as your hands tremble against the grocery bag. You haven't left the house in weeks, yet the mask fits perfectly.

The performance is exhausting, but the light does not demand you drop the act right there on the sidewalk. It sees the shaking hands.

It knows the silence behind the smile. There is a truth that lives in us and will be with us forever, deeper than any lie you tell to survive the day.

The light is not waiting for you to be honest with the neighbor before it loves you. It is already inside the tremor, holding what you cannot carry alone.

You don't have to be fine to be held.