You Are Already Clean Beneath The Mask

The water is hot enough to sting, but you scrub harder, as if friction could remove the mask you wore all morning. You are trying to wash off the performance—the smiles that didn't reach your eyes, the words you said to keep the peace, the version of yourself you constructed so no one would see the cracks.

The skin turns red, raw, but the feeling of being an actor in your own life remains. You think you need to cleanse yourself of the day's deception before you can be real again.

But the light does not wait for you to finish scrubbing. It was there beneath the costume all along, untouched by the role you played.

The Father sees the face behind the makeup, and he loves that face more than the performance. You do not need to scour your skin to be worthy of being seen.

The water rinses the dirt, but it cannot wash away what was never truly on you. You are already clean beneath the mask.