The Light Loves Your Trembling Hands

The room is bright now, and the mask is back on. You smiled at the right moments.

You nodded. You held your coffee cup steady enough that no one guessed the storm underneath.

But you remember the moment your hands began to tremble mid-sentence. The specific, sharp memory of pulling your hands into your sleeves just to stop them from seeing the shake.

You hid the evidence of your fear so the performance could continue. The world rewards the steady hand.

The light rewards the honest one. There is a truth that lives inside you, and it will be with you forever — not just when you are composed, but especially when you are not.

You do not have to hold your hands in your sleeves anymore. The tremor does not disqualify you from being loved.

It only proves you are human, and the light chose to dwell in human hands exactly as they are.