The Hidden Journal

Not every part of life happens in a room.
Some of it happens in the hallways —
the narrow, echoing places between what was and what’s next.

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These are the spaces without furniture,
without certainty.
Just me and the sound of my own steps,
moving through what used to fit,
toward what I haven’t built yet.

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The hallways between are where I’ve learned patience —
how to breathe when the door behind me has closed,
but the next one hasn’t opened yet.

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It’s quiet here,
but not empty.
Every step has its own small courage.
Every echo means I’m still walking.

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Maybe the hallways are where growth really happens —
not in the rooms of comfort or arrival,
but in the steady in-between,
where I learn to trust
that every closed door is a beginning in disguise.

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— Desiree