The Hidden Journal

There’s a language I only speak in silence.
It lives in the corners of my mouth,
in the words I almost say,
in the messages I type and delete before sending.

───

Some truths are too heavy for sound.
They lose their shape when spoken,
fall apart in the air between us.
So I keep them close —
press them between the pages of my mind
like flowers I never gave away.

───

It’s not that I don’t want to share.
It’s that I’ve learned
how easily vulnerability can bruise
in the wrong hands.
How “I understand”
can sometimes mean “I’m no longer listening.”

───

Still, there’s something sacred
about holding my truth quietly.
It teaches me patience,
and a kind of trust that doesn’t depend on being seen.

───

So tonight I write it here —
the ache, the gratitude,
the things I could never say out loud
but always meant.

And maybe that’s enough.

— Desiree