The Hidden Journal

There are still corners untouched by morning.
Soft, stubborn places
that refuse to open,
that hum in a language light can’t translate.

───

I used to think healing meant brightness —
that every shadow had to vanish
for me to be whole.
But some darkness stays
not to haunt me,
but to hold what light can’t yet carry.

───

These quiet depths —
they aren’t mistakes.
They are roots.
Memory made sacred.
The soil where forgiveness grows slowly,
patiently,
without display.

───

The places light can’t reach
teach me to see differently.
Not with eyes,
but with presence.
Not with proof,
but with trust.

───

And maybe that’s what grace really is —
letting both things exist:
the light that forgives
and the dark that remembers.

───

I no longer chase the glow.
I listen to the hush beneath it.
Because some truths
only whisper in the dark.

───

— Desiree