Holy Tears Behind the Locked Door
The stall door locks, and for a moment, the mask slips. You swallow the sound before it escapes, terrified that someone outside will hear you break.
But the light does not need your composure. It sees the tears you hide and calls them holy.
Go back to your desk, not because you are fixed, but because you are known. The performance is over; the real you is the one who survives the crying.
Drawing from
Mark 5:19, Matthew 6:18
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