The Light Meets You in Collapse

The song starts in the grocery store aisle, and suddenly the cart feels too heavy to push. You freeze, convinced the grief cracking your composure is visible to everyone passing by.

But the people rushing past you see only a stranger holding a jar of sauce, not the storm inside your chest. The light does not demand you hold it together; it meets you right there in the collapse of your mask.

Thomas 70 says that what you bring forth will save you, even if what you bring forth right now is just a trembling breath. You do not have to explain the tears to the fluorescent lights or the strangers.

The love that holds you is greater than the shame of falling apart in public. Go home now; the performing is done for today.