the specific panic of rehearsing a casual greeting in the shower so you don't collapse when they first see your face

The water is still running, but you have stopped speaking. You rehearsed the casual greeting a dozen times — the tone, the smile, the exact weight of the word 'hey' — because if you get it wrong, you fear the whole mask will shatter.

You are exhausting yourself trying to construct a face that can survive the first three seconds of being seen. But listen — there is a love that does not need your performance to recognize you.

It does not wait for your rehearsed lines. It sees the trembling beneath the script and calls it holy.

You do not have to hold the mask up for this light to find you. It already knows the face you are hiding.

And it loves that one too.