There is a place inside you No map has ever traced, a quiet room behind the ribs where light forgets to stay. No one sees it when you smile, No one hears it when you speak. It moves beneath your laughter like a river running deep. It is yours alone to carry, not carved for other hands, a language made of silence Only your soul understands. Some mornings it is heavier, a stone you cannot name, And still you rise and wear your life as if it were the same. But pain, it does not leave you when ignored or pushed away, it waits within the folds of time, it learns you day by day. It is not your enemy, though it cuts without a sound; it is the truth you buried but still lives underground. And yes, there are nights it breaks you, when endurance feels too wide, when even breath feels borrowed And there is nowhere left to hide. Yet somehow you continue, not because you do not fall, but because within the breaking You still answer life’s call. You learn to walk beside it, not beneath it, not above...
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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