The Light Knows the Joke

The phone feels heavy in your hand, a small black mirror waiting for a share that won't land. You found something funny, something that would have made them laugh in that specific, shorthand way only you two understood, and now the silence of the room is louder than the joke.

You are walking through the day wearing a face that says you are fine, performing okayness for the people who pass you in the hallway. But the light sees behind the mask.

It sees the hollow space where that laughter used to live. The true light that gives light to everyone was coming into the world to shine on exactly this kind of hidden grief.

You do not have to hold the performance up much longer. The light is not asking you to be happy; it is asking you to be real.

Put the phone down. Let the mask fall.

The light is already here, sitting with you in the quiet, knowing the joke even if no one else ever will.