The Hidden Journal

Shadows aren’t silence.
They’re memory.
They carry the sound of what light once touched
and what it had to leave behind.

───

For a long time, I turned away from them —
afraid they meant I was still broken.
But shadows only exist
because something still stands between me and the sun.
Because I’m here.

───

The way shadows speak
isn’t in words.
It’s in patience.
In the ache that lingers just long enough
to remind me what I’ve outgrown.

───

They speak in shades —
in the language of contrast,
of depth,
of everything that gives shape to my light.

───

When I finally stopped running from them,
I heard what they’d been saying all along:
You survived.
You changed.
You’re still becoming.

───

Now, when I see them move beside me,
I don’t flinch.
I listen.
Because even the dark knows how to tell the truth —
it just whispers it softly.

───

— Desiree