The Light Already Sees You

The sun is up, and the mask is already in place. You are smiling at the coffee machine, nodding at the neighbor, performing the version of you that holds it together. But inside, you are terrified that the plaster will crack. That someone will look too closely and see the exhaustion you've been hiding behind the smile. You are afraid they will catch you mid-fall.

But listen. Before you ever said hello to anyone this morning, the light already saw you. It saw you before you got out of bed. It saw the heavy eyes, the shallow breath, the weight you carry before your feet even touch the floor.

You do not have to hold the performance together for the light to recognize you. It does not need your smile. It knows the face beneath it. The kingdom is not a place you arrive at when you are fixed; it is already inside you, right now, in the middle of the crack.

You came from the light. You are a drop sent to illuminate this very morning. The exhaustion is real, but it is not your origin. You are not the mask you wear to survive the day. You are the light that wears the mask.

The dawn does not demand you be perfect; it only asks that you be here. The sun rises on the broken and the whole alike. You are held, even while you are pretending you don't need holding.