the pace of hidden things

he moves slow through every day like time forgot to show the way not lost, just never in a race a quiet step, a softer pace he wears a mask, not bold, not bright just something worn to face the light not made for show, not made to stay just something to get through the day they say he’s fine, they don’t look twice he’s learned to pay that quiet price to smile on cue, to nod, to blend and keep the parts he can’t defend but underneath, it’s always there a quiet weight he has to bear not sharp, not loud, just always near a voice no one else gets to hear some days it slips, a small mistake a crack he quickly learns to fake he fixes it without a sound and locks it safely back around a slow spirit, still here, still true doing what he has to do with a mask that helps him make it through and all the things he won’t undo