You Don't Have to Fix Your Face

The water is still dripping from your chin when you look up and freeze. You are trying to command your eyes to look normal, to wipe the exhaustion off your face before you walk back out to them.

You are rehearsing a version of yourself that can survive the room waiting on the other side of the door. But the light does not need you to fix your expression.

It saw you when you were bent over the sink, too tired to hold your head up. It saw the water hit the porcelain.

It saw the moment you almost crumbled. And it did not look away.

The mask you are building right now is heavy, but you do not have to wear it for the light. You are allowed to walk out there with wet hair and red eyes.

The love that holds you does not require you to look composed. It only requires you to be real.