The Light Sees Through Your Mask

The screen lights up your face, but the glow feels cold against skin that is pretending to be full. You scroll through names you know by heart, yet a sharp panic rises: none of these people know the version of you that is currently starving.

You have become an expert at performing okayness, polishing the mask until even you forget where the paint ends and the person begins. But the light sees through the performance without needing you to take it off first.

It saw Nathanael sitting under the fig tree before he was called, knowing him completely before a single word was spoken. You do not need to explain the hunger to be known.

The light is already inside the mask, waiting for you to realize it has been feeding you all along.