The Light Sees Your Tremor

They look up from their coffee and see the silence sitting on your shoulders. You feel the question forming in their eyes before they even speak it.

So you smile. You invent a reason about being tired or distracted, something small and safe that closes the door before they can knock.

It feels like survival. But the mask is heavy, and wearing it for the person you love most is a specific kind of loneliness.

The light does not need you to perform okayness. It sees the tremor behind the smile.

It knows the story you are hiding. And it is not waiting for you to be fixed before it stays.

It is already sitting at the table with you, in the quiet space between your fear and their concern. You do not have to earn the right to be real.

The truth is already enough.