The Light Sees You Behind The Mask

The sun is up now, and the mask is back on. You smiled at the coffee machine, answered the emails, and walked through the morning as if the night never happened.

But your hands remember the cold water. They remember the sound of the wrapper crinkling in the dark, the hurried scrubbing of the plate to hide the evidence of what you ate, what you needed, what you couldn't stop yourself from consuming.

You washed the plate so no one would know you were hungry. So no one would know you were hurting.

But the light sees the plate. It saw you last night, standing over the sink in the quiet, trying to wash away the shame before the sun could find you.

And it did not look away. It did not judge the hunger.

It only saw the person who thought they had to hide. The mask fits perfectly this morning, doesn't it?

Smooth on the outside, frantic on the inside. But the light that walks beside you knows the truth behind the performance.

It knows you ate because you were trying to fill a space that food cannot reach. You are not the wrapper.

You are not the hunger. You are the light that was there in the kitchen when you thought you were alone.

The sun is up, and you are still here. That is enough.