The Hidden Journal

Healing doesn’t announce itself.
It starts small —
a thought that doesn’t hurt as much as it used to,
a memory that stops burning when it touches you.

───

At first, I mistook stillness for emptiness.
I thought the quiet meant I’d lost something.
But really, it was the sound of everything rearranging.
The ache was just roots finding new soil.

───

There’s movement under the calm,
slow and deliberate —
like the earth breathing below a frozen field.
You don’t see it,
but you can feel the shift
if you stop long enough to listen.

───

Some parts of me are still thawing.
Some are already blooming.
Both are beautiful in their own timing.

───

Not all progress shines.
Sometimes it hums beneath the surface,
soft and certain,
whispering —
you’re still growing, even here.

— Desiree