The Light Sees Behind Your Glass

The room is loud, and you are laughing at the right time, but it feels like you are behind thick glass. Everyone else is breathing the same air, while you are watching life through a pane that muffles the sound and distorts the faces.

You perform okayness perfectly. The smile fits.

The nod comes on cue. But inside, the silence is deafening.

— The light does not need your performance to see you. It sees the person behind the glass, not the mask in front of it.

There was a man born blind, and everyone around him argued about whose fault it was. They turned his suffering into a debate.

But the light stopped the argument, spat on the ground, and touched the eyes that could not see. It did not ask for an explanation.

It did not require the man to prove he deserved sight. It simply opened what was closed.

Your exhaustion is not a failure of faith. It is the cost of holding the glass up all morning.

You can put it down. The light is already on this side of the barrier, waiting for you to stop pretending you are alone.