The Hidden Journal

There’s a part of me that doesn’t move when I’m watched.
It stays still — quiet, observant,
waiting for the room to empty.

───

Some things aren’t meant to be seen in real time.
They unfold in silence,
in the long pauses between pretending and truth.
That’s where I find the softest parts of myself —
the ones that flinch when touched,
but still ache to be understood.

───

People talk about transparency
like it’s the highest form of honesty.
But I think there’s honesty, too,
in holding something close to the chest.
Not everything needs a witness to be real.

───

Sometimes what stays hidden
isn’t fear —
it’s faith.
Faith that some feelings are too sacred
to be handled by unsteady hands.

───

So I let them live quietly inside me.
Not as secrets,
but as seeds.
And when they’re ready,
they’ll bloom in their own way —
without apology,
without permission.

— Desiree