The Hidden Journal

They don’t announce themselves.
They just arrive —
quiet, steady,
folded between ordinary hours.

───

The gentle days aren’t loud.
They don’t demand proof or progress.
They hum softly,
as if to say,
You’ve already done enough.

───

These are the days I stop measuring.
Stop chasing meaning.
Stop mistaking stillness for stagnation.

───

Here, healing hums like background music.
Here, peace feels less like an event
and more like weather —
something that drifts in and stays awhile.

───

The gentle days teach me
that joy doesn’t need an audience.
That love doesn’t always come with fireworks.
That being alive
can be quiet
and still feel full.

───

I used to crave intensity.
Now I crave this —
the way soft things last.

───

— Desiree