The Hidden Journal

I used to think light disappeared.
That once it left,
it was gone for good.
But light has a memory —
it lingers,
soft and invisible,
even when the room feels dim.

───

Sometimes it hides in reflection,
a shimmer on water,
a glow through closed eyelids.
It waits quietly,
trusting I’ll remember how to find it again.

───

I’ve walked through nights that felt endless,
and still,
somewhere deep inside,
I could feel the pulse of something warm
that refused to die out.

───

Maybe that’s what grace really is —
the way light stays loyal,
even when I forget what it feels like.

───

It never leaves.
It just learns new ways to reach me.

───

And when it returns,
it always feels familiar —
like something I’ve carried all along.

───

— Desiree