The Light Sees Behind Your Mask

The room is loud, but you are behind glass. Someone tells a joke, and your face moves into the shape of a smile before your heart has even heard the punchline.

It is a mechanical thing, this performance of okayness. A mask you put on so no one asks if you are breaking.

But the light sees the gap between the smile and the silence inside you. It does not demand you take the mask off right now.

It simply sits with you in the quiet space behind your eyes. Jesus walked through crowds that wanted things from him, yet he knew the difference between the noise and the one person who truly saw him.

You do not have to convince the light that you are fine. It already knows the ache.

It is waiting for the moment you stop performing and just breathe. The mask is heavy, but the face beneath it is already loved.