Love was never a heartbeat. It was the echo left behind after the heart forgot why it was still beating. It arrived wearing another person's face, its hands stitched together from promises that had already begun to rot. I welcomed it. Not because it was kind, but because loneliness knows how to mistake a wolf for warmth. Every smile it offered cast a longer shadow. Every whispered "forever" fed another ghost sleeping beneath my ribs. The thought of love is a clever liar. It builds cathedrals from broken mirrors, then asks us to kneel before our own reflections, calling the illusion destiny. How eagerly we obey. We water flowers that grow from graves, write poems to people who never truly existed, and embrace memories still unborn. Love watches. Silent. Patient. Like a spider waiting in the center of a web woven from hope. It never forces us inside. It simply lets us believe the silver threads are rays of morning light. By the time we understand, the sky has forgotten our ...
Nurture others from the goodness within,
Not as a favor, not counting the win.
Let kindness flow free, with no hidden cost,
No need to remind them of what you have lost.
Give without measuring, help without pride,
No whispered complaints when they turn aside.
What you offer in light should not turn to shade,
True care asks nothing for help that was made.
Live with a heart that is gentle and clean,
Let your intentions be honest, unseen.
Do good in silence, let actions be true,
The purest of lives needs no audience too.
For goodness that’s real does not seek a crown,
It lifts others up without pushing them down.
Walk softly through life, let your spirit impart
A legacy written in love, from a pure heart.
© 2025 Gloria Penelope
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