You laugh at them. You point your finger and call them a fool. Their silence amuses you, their gentleness becomes your joke, and the crowd joins your laughter as if kindness were weakness. It feels enjoyable today, sweet on your tongue like careless victory. Their patience becomes your stage, their humility your entertainment. But time is a quiet witness. It watches without speaking, It writes its lessons slowly in the turning pages of life. A day will come When laughter turns into tears. The echoes of your mockery will return to your own ears like thunder across an empty sky. Situations will arise without warning, storms without hands to beat you Yet heavy enough to break your pride. Pain will arrive quietly, And you will feel the trembling of a heart that once laughed too loudly. And that fool, that funny person you once mocked, may stand in the distance, not laughing, but witnessing your tears, your shaking voice, Your falling ego. For life has a patient way of bending the tallest p...
Happiness used to walk ahead of me.
Not run—
just lead.
Quiet. Certain.
Like it knew the way.
Life was gentle then.
Peace didn’t have to be explained.
I breathed without checking my chest,
laughed without rehearsing it,
slept without bargaining with tomorrow.
I didn’t know
those days were teaching me
what I’d later miss.
Misery didn’t arrive screaming.
It never does.
It slipped in through familiarity,
wearing the face of “just a phase,”
moving the furniture of my life
one inch at a time
until nothing felt like home.
Now sadness walks beside me—
not ahead,
not behind—
close enough to remind me
that something was lost.
I carry memories like photographs
with the color fading.
Proof that I once lived softly.
Proof that peace knew my name.
And some nights,
that’s what hurts the most—
not that I’m hurting now,
But that I know
Exactly how good it used to be.
© 2025 Gloria Penelope
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