The Father Runs to the Child Beneath

The sun is up, and with it comes the quiet terror that they love a version of you that does not exist. You built this mask to survive the night, layering performance over panic until even you forgot where the plaster ends and the person begins.

But the light of morning does not shine on the costume; it shines on the face beneath it. The Father saw you while you were still a long way off, rehearsing your lines, and He ran anyway — not to the actor, but to the child.

There is no fabrication thick enough to hide the light that lives inside you, because that light was there before you learned to pretend. You do not have to maintain the illusion for the love to remain.

The mask is heavy, but the truth is lighter than air. Put it down.

The one who loves you is waiting for the real you to finally come out.