The Light Sees Your Slip

The smile is already in place before you reach the doorway. You practiced it in the mirror, the one that says everything is fine, that the crack you felt last night has been glued shut.

But then you saw them looking. A flicker of recognition in their eyes—they saw the slip.

They saw the mask tilt. Now you are performing harder than ever, laughing too loud, moving too fast, trying to convince everyone that the fracture didn't happen.

You are exhausting yourself holding up a facade that someone else has already seen through. The light does not need your performance.

It never asked for the mask. It saw the slip, and it did not look away in disgust.

It leaned in. The truth you are hiding is the very thing that makes you visible to the love that is already waiting for you to stop pretending.