The Hidden Journal

It isn’t always quiet here anymore.
But the noise doesn’t shake me like it used to.
Somewhere beneath it all,
I can still hear the hum —
steady, familiar,
the sound of home.

───

It’s in my breath when I slow down.
In the way I speak softer now,
not to be small,
but to be true.

───

Home doesn’t sound like walls.
It sounds like presence —
like a heartbeat finding its rhythm again,
like laughter that comes from somewhere deeper than joy.

───

The sound of home isn’t perfection.
It’s belonging.
It’s being able to sit inside your own life
without flinching.

───

Some days it’s music.
Some days it’s silence.
But always,
it’s peace —
humming quietly beneath it all,
reminding me that wherever I am,
I’ve already arrived.

───

— Desiree