Safe Enough to Fall Apart Here

The sun is down. The door is locked.

And now the work begins—not the work you did all day, but the work of finally stopping. You can feel it in your jaw.

The ache where you clamped down, hour after hour, to keep the sob from escaping. You held your face together so no one would see it crack.

But the performance is over. The mask is on the table.

You do not have to hold it anymore. The light does not need you to be strong now.

It does not need you to be silent. Let your mouth open.

Let the sound come out. It will not break you.

It will not break the room. There is a peace that does not require a closed mouth.

A peace that meets you exactly where the jaw unlocks and the breath finally shudders out. You are safe enough to fall apart here.