The Key Was Never Lost

You open the old journal and the handwriting looks like yours, but the voice inside the words feels like a stranger's. You hid that version of yourself so well, buried it under layers of who you thought you should be, that now you can't recognize the person who wrote those pages.

In this deepest hour, the silence asks you to stop running from the ghost you created. There is light within a person of light, and it lights up the whole world—even the parts you tried to lock away in the dark.

You did not lose yourself; you only forgot where you put the key. The light was there before the hiding began, and it is here now, waiting for you to stop pretending you are someone else.