The Hidden Journal

There are things I say out loud — the polished versions, the soft truths, the sentences that sound safe in public.
Then there are the ones I keep close, pressed between my ribs like a secret pulse.
They’re not lies. They’re just the parts that need quiet to stay alive.

I’ve learned that not everything sacred survives translation.
Sometimes language distorts what silence protects.
Sometimes, saying too much can make something small and trembling lose its magic.

So when people ask me what I really mean —
what I really do,
who I really am —
I smile, and let the mystery breathe.

Because the truth isn’t a single confession.
It’s a rhythm I move to alone,
a prayer I don’t interrupt to explain.

Maybe one day I’ll tell the whole story.
But for now, I’m learning to love the part that stays unspoken —
not out of fear,
but reverence.

— Desiree