The Hidden Journal

Every ending leaves a door behind.
Some I close softly,
others I leave cracked open —
a quiet promise to myself
that not everything has to be final.

───

I used to fear doorways.
The crossing.
The in-between.
That fragile moment when one world fades
and another hasn’t yet formed.

───

But now, I move slower.
I pause at thresholds.
I let my hand rest on the frame
and whisper gratitude for where I’ve been,
even if I never walk back through.

───

Doorways ask for faith —
not in the room ahead,
but in the fact that you can walk through it
and still belong to yourself.

───

I don’t need to know where each door leads anymore.
It’s enough to know I’m the one who gets to turn the handle.

───

— Desiree