You Do Not Have to Earn Falling Apart

The water is still running, but you have turned your face to the tile to practice the words one more time. You are rehearsing the collapse so it will not happen in front of them.

You are trying to make your tragedy tidy, to smooth the edges of the grief so it fits neatly into a sentence without shaking. But the light does not need your performance.

It does not need the calm version of your story. It saw you before you even began to prepare the speech.

It knows the tremor you are trying to hide. You do not have to earn the right to fall apart.

The One who sees you is not waiting for a composed report. He is waiting for the truth, however broken it sounds.

Stop rehearsing. Let the water wash over the mask you are holding.

You are safe enough to cry.