The mountain never bowed to applause, Nor did the river pause for tears. The sky has carried a thousand storms Without remembering a single face. You are a traveler, not the road. A heartbeat, not the clock. The world was already speaking Long before it learned your name. Some goodbyes bloom from seasons, Not from mistakes. Some distances are drawn by time, Not by the hands that reach across them. Don't make yourself the author Of every unfinished sentence. Some pages are left blank Because silence belongs there. There is a strange mercy In not standing at the center Of every ending, Of every change. The sun does not rise to prove a point. The stars do not dim to send a message. Life simply unfolds, Wild, indifferent, beautiful. So carry your kindness, Leave your footprints lightly, And when the world turns without asking, Smile. It's not about you. That's how it is. © 2026 Gloria Penelope
You were certain we shared the same room,
breathing the same air of love,
believing our words met in the middle,
believing our hearts spoke one language.
We stood close enough to touch,
Yet something unseen ran between us—
two quiet rails laid side by side,
never crossing, only pretending to meet.
You thought we understood each other,
that every glance was an agreement,
that silence meant peace,
not distance learning, how to grow.
While you reached forward,
I moved elsewhere,
step by step on a neighboring path,
close, familiar, but never yours.
Time revealed the truth gently,
then all at once—
what felt like togetherness
was a parallel motion in disguise.
And eventually, inevitably,
those tracks began to bend away,
carrying us toward different horizons,
proving we were never lost—
never walking the same way.
© 2026 Gloria Penelope
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