The Hidden Journal

It’s quiet in a different way now.
Not the silence of breaking —
but the hush that follows mending.

───

The morning after healing
doesn’t feel like victory.
It feels like calm.
Like breathing without remembering how.

───

The light falls gently,
and I notice it —
not because it’s brighter,
but because I am.

───

There’s no rush to declare I’m new.
No need to prove I’ve changed.
I just move slower,
softer,
as if the world has become more fragile
and I’ve learned how to hold it without hurting it.

───

The morning after healing
isn’t the end of the story.
It’s the first page written
without pain guiding the pen.

───

I drink water.
I open windows.
I say thank you
to no one in particular.
And for the first time in a long while,
that feels like prayer.

───

— Desiree