The Hidden Journal

Light doesn’t interrupt.
It waits.
It listens in gold,
in silver,
in the quiet shimmer between things I haven’t yet said aloud.

───

It doesn’t rush me to heal.
It doesn’t demand I smile.
It just arrives,
touches everything I’ve hidden,
and stays long enough for me to stop flinching.

───

The way light listens
is how I want to love now —
without fixing,
without filling the silence,
just offering warmth
until what’s heavy decides to soften.

───

When I stand in it,
I feel understood.
Not for what I show,
but for what I’ve survived.

───

Light listens
by staying —
by finding beauty
in what was once too dark to look at.

───

And when I finally look back,
I realize it never judged me —
it only waited
for me to see myself clearly again.

───

— Desiree