The Hidden Journal

Some rooms still hold echoes.
Not ghosts,
just the quiet residue of love and living.

───

There are corners where laughter lingers,
and shelves where old prayers still hum softly.
Even the air seems to know
who once stood here.

───

I used to fear those memories —
afraid that looking back
meant I hadn’t moved on.
But now I know remembering
is its own kind of grace.

───

Every mark, every dent, every sound
belongs to the story of this house.
They don’t haunt me anymore.
They remind me that I’ve lived.

───

Not all rooms are meant to stay quiet.
Some sing in whispers.
Some sigh when the light shifts.
And some,
some just rest in peace
with what they’ve held.

───

— Desiree