The Hidden Journal

The world wakes up fast.
But I don’t anymore.
I’ve learned that peace moves slowly —
like sunlight finding its way through the blinds.

───

Soft mornings are how I remember myself.
Before the noise,
before the rush,
before the world asks me who I’m supposed to be.

───

Here, I don’t have to perform.
I don’t have to heal on command.
I just breathe.
I listen.
I let stillness pour its quiet back into me.

───

The cup of tea,
the open window,
the gentle hum of something alive —
these are the small altars I build
to honor the life I’ve come back to.

───

Not every morning feels magical,
but every one is merciful.
A soft reminder:
I get to begin again.

───

— Desiree