The Embrace Is For The Child

The sun has dipped below the rim, and the stage lights have finally clicked off. You are standing in the quiet of your own living room, waiting for the silence to tell you that you are no longer enough.

You are afraid that the people who cheered for the costume will walk away now that they see the person underneath. But listen closely — the light does not clap for performances.

It does not love the mask you wore to get through the day. When the father saw his son coming home, he did not wait for the speech or the rehearsed apology.

He ran. He ran to the one who had nothing left to offer but his own broken presence.

The love you are afraid of losing was never attached to your act in the first place. It was attached to you.

The applause was for the show, but the embrace is for the child. Take off the heavy robes.

Let the audience go. The ones who stay when the curtain falls are the only ones who ever really saw you.