The Hidden Journal

After joy passes,
something remains.
Not the rush,
not the spark —
but a softness,
a hum that lives quietly beneath the noise.

───

It doesn’t announce itself.
It just stays —
in the way I move slower,
breathe deeper,
look at the world with less demand.

───

I used to think peace was a pause —
something that waited between storms.
But now I know it’s the thread that holds them together.
The softness that stays
after the light shifts,
after the laughter fades,
after the ache has finally exhaled.

───

It’s in my voice when I speak gently to myself.
It’s in the stillness that doesn’t feel empty anymore.
It’s in the knowing that I don’t have to go back
to who I was before I learned how to rest.

───

This is what remains
when nothing else demands to be held —
the quiet strength
of simply being okay.

───

— Desiree