The Light Stops For You

The sun is high, and the performance is exhausting. You walk through the afternoon holding up a face that says 'I am fine' while everything inside you is screaming.

It takes so much energy to keep the mask from slipping, to make sure no one sees the cracks, to pretend the weight isn't crushing your shoulders. But the light does not need your perfection.

It saw the woman who had been bleeding for twelve years, spending everything she had on doctors who could not help her, growing worse while the world walked by. She did not stand up and give a speech about how well she was doing.

She pushed through the crowd, trembling, and touched the edge of a cloak. And the light stopped.

It turned around in the middle of the rush and asked who touched it. It called her Daughter.

Your pain is not a failure of your persona. It is the place where the light stops for you.

You do not have to hold the mask up one second longer. The one who knows your name is already reaching through the crowd.