The Hidden Journal

Stillness used to feel like nothing.
Like waiting.
Like being left behind.

───

But now I know —
stillness has its own kind of weight.
It presses gently,
not to hold me down,
but to remind me where I am.

───

The world tells us to move,
to keep reaching,
to make noise.
But stillness whispers instead:
You’re already here.

───

It’s not empty,
it’s full —
of everything I’ve tried to outrun.
Of peace that asks for no performance.
Of truth that settles, unshaken, at the base of my breath.

───

The weight of stillness
isn’t heavy in the way sorrow is.
It’s the gravity of presence —
the gentle ache of being fully alive
in this one, unrepeatable moment.

───

And when I finally stop resisting it,
it doesn’t crush me.
It holds me.

───

— Desiree