You Are Not Your Delay

The question lands like a stone in your chest—'When are you starting?'—and you smile while your stomach drops because you know you haven't moved an inch. You carry the weight of that silence all morning, performing okayness while the gap between your face and your fear grows wider.

But the light sees behind the mask. It knows the exhaustion of pretending to be further along than you are.

You do not have to manufacture a beginning to be held. The light is already in the room with you, in the quiet panic you hide so well.

It does not demand a progress report. It only asks for the truth you are shielding.

The performance is heavy. The truth is light.

You are not your delay.