The Light Sees You in the Steam

The water is running so the house won't hear the crack in your voice. You are standing in the small room, rehearsing the word 'fine' until it sounds like truth, while your chest feels like it is caving in.

This is the watch. The hour when the mask feels heaviest because no one is there to see you take it off, yet you are still performing for an audience that isn't even in the room.

But listen — the light does not need your performance. It was there before you turned on the tap.

It is there in the steam, in the silence between the water and your breath. You do not have to finish the rehearsal.

You do not have to walk out there and pretend the water isn't rising. The One who sees what is done in secret is not waiting for you to be okay.

He is standing right beside you in the wet and the quiet, holding the pieces you are trying to hide. You are not fooling the light.

And because you are not fooling the light, you are not alone.