You Do Not Have to Be Strong

The sun is up, and the house is moving, but you are still holding your breath. You lie there next to them, stiff and silent, terrified that a single sigh will force you to explain why you are still awake, why the night never really left you.

So you put on the face. You pull up the mask of okayness and walk out to meet the day, smiling while something inside you is quietly breaking.

But the light does not need your performance. It sees the gap between the smile and the silence.

It sees the exhaustion you are hiding behind your eyes. And it is not disappointed by the act.

It is waiting for the moment you can finally stop pretending. You do not have to be strong for the light to hold you.

The mask is heavy. You are allowed to set it down.