When Light Feels Like a Lie: A Quiet Portrait of Silence, Lace, and the Body That Remembers Itself

I didn’t need likes to feel real—I needed silence to remember myself.

They sold me a white dress for show? Nah.

The lace wasn’t red—it was bruised by other people’s eyes.

My mother painted walls with jazz… my father built frameworks from steel… and I just sat there while the light spoke back.

This isn’t fashion. It’s faith. And sometimes, when you stop pretending, you finally feel like yourself…

So tell me—when did you last stop pretending?

(Comment section: let’s开战啦.)