The Hidden Journal

There are days I feel transparent —
like you could see right through me
if you only looked closely enough.

But I’ve stopped fearing that.
I’ve learned that glass isn’t weakness.
It’s what lets the light in.

───

The windows of me have seen so many seasons —
frost, rain, the slow fog of doubt,
the sudden flare of sunrise.
And still, they stand.
Still, they shine when the light touches them just right.

───

I used to close the curtains on myself —
afraid of being seen,
afraid of being misunderstood.
But now I know transparency isn’t exposure.
It’s clarity.

───

I’m not made to be impenetrable.
I’m made to reflect what’s beautiful
and let the rest pass through.

───

The windows of me aren’t spotless.
They’re streaked with memory,
with living.
But they glow anyway —
and maybe that’s what makes them holy.

───

— Desiree