The Light That Never Left You

The screen goes black, and the silence rushes in to fill the space where a voice just was. You stare at your own reflection in the dark glass, rehearsing the excuses you will offer tomorrow for why you were not really there.

The ache in your chest feels like proof that you are fooling everyone — that the light has left the building. But listen — the darkness has not overcome it.

The light you are trying to perform is not the same as the light that lives in you. One requires an audience; the other requires only breath.

You do not need to explain your absence to a presence that never left. The mask is heavy, but the face beneath it is already known.

Tomorrow will worry about itself.