The Light Sees You Behind The Mask

The question lands softly in the breakroom—'How are you?'—and your throat closes like a fist. You have spent the morning polishing the mask until it gleams, until it looks exactly like peace.

To speak the truth now would feel like dropping the shield and finally collapsing under the weight you've been carrying alone. But the light does not need your performance to love you.

It sees the tremor in your hands and the exhaustion behind your eyes, and it calls you friend, not because you are holding it together, but because you are held. There is a place inside you where the mask has already fallen, and you are still standing.

The light knows the truth, and it has not flinched.