The Hidden Journal

There was a time when I wanted more —
more noise,
more proof,
more light.
As if “enough” meant settling
instead of peace.

───

But now, enough feels like air.
Quiet, unseen,
but keeping everything alive.

───

Enough is the cup that’s already full.
The laughter that doesn’t need an audience.
The moment that doesn’t rush
to become something else.

───

The beauty of enough
is that it leaves space for grace —
for stillness,
for breath,
for the soft knowing that nothing is missing.

───

I used to chase abundance.
Now I understand it.
It was never more —
it was this.

───

— Desiree