The Hidden Journal

Peace doesn’t chase.
It doesn’t plead.
It waits.

───

It sits in the corner of every moment,
unbothered by my noise,
patient through every storm.
It knows I’ll come back eventually —
when the spinning stops,
when the ache settles,
when I remember that stillness
isn’t the same as silence.

───

The peace that waits for me
isn’t made of perfection.
It’s built from return —
the soft repetition of choosing calm
even when chaos feels familiar.

───

I used to think peace had to be found.
Now I know it has always known my name.
It never left —
I just forgot how to listen.

───

And every time I remember,
it smiles like an old friend
and says,
Welcome home.

───

— Desiree