The Light Sees Behind Your Mask

You stand in the hallway bathroom with the door locked, staring at a stranger in the mirror. You are trying to rearrange your face into something recognizable before you walk out to dinner.

The mask feels heavy tonight. You practice the smile that says you are fine, the eyes that say you are present, while everything inside you is screaming to stay hidden behind this thin layer of wood and paint.

But the light does not need your performance to see you. It sees the exhaustion behind the makeup, the tremor behind the calm voice.

There is a truth living in you that will be with you forever, and it does not require you to fix your expression before it loves you. You do not have to earn your place at the table by looking like you have it together.

The light is already sitting there, waiting for the real you to walk through the door.