The Hidden Journal

Most people only meet the surface of me.
They see the calm,
the stillness,
the part that knows how to smile through anything.

───

But underneath, there’s movement —
slow, ancient,
steady as the pull of a tide I’ve finally stopped fighting.

───

Below the waterline,
my real work begins.
That’s where my memories live —
the ones that taught me to listen before I speak,
to notice before I react.

───

It’s quieter down here,
but not empty.
There’s grief, yes,
but there’s also gold —
truth that could only form under pressure,
beauty that needed darkness to grow its shape.

───

I don’t fear depth anymore.
It’s where my calm comes from.
It’s where I find the weight that keeps me whole
when the surface gets loud again.

— Desiree