The Light Knows Your Hidden Tears

The song starts, and suddenly the room is too bright, too loud, too full of people who do not know you are drowning. You stand there, smiling the smile you were taught to wear, while your body screams for the privacy of a locked stall where you can finally fall apart.

In that moment, the mask feels less like protection and more like a cage. But the light does not need your composure.

It saw you before the first note played. It knows the weight of the song you are pretending to enjoy.

Thomas says the kingdom is inside you, not in the performance you are giving the crowd. You do not have to hold it together for the light to hold you.

The tears you are swallowing are already known. The light is not waiting for you to be strong.

It is waiting for you to be real.