The Light Loves What Is Breaking

The question is so small. 'How are you?' Just three words.

But in this hour, they feel like a trap door waiting to open beneath your feet. You rehearse the answer while the coffee brews.

You practice the smile in the mirror until your face aches. 'Fine,' you say to the empty room.

'Good.' Just fine. Just good.

Anything to keep the dam from breaking. Anything to keep the hollow ache inside from spilling out where people can see it.

You are so tired of holding the weight of the performance. The silence of this hour knows the truth your voice cannot speak.

It knows that you are not fine. It knows that you are barely standing.

And in this deepest dark, where no one is watching and no mask is required, you do not have to pretend. The light does not need your polished answer.

It does not need the 'fine.' It is already inside the ache you are trying to hide. It was there before the question was asked.

It is the ground beneath you when the rehearsed words fail. You do not have to hold it together for the light.

It sees the crack. And it loves what is breaking open.