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...
We begin in places no one remembers,
wrapped in sorrow before our names are learned.
Our first footsteps fall on broken ground,
and grief teaches us the language of living.
Yet even there,
hope waits quietly, patient,
folded inside tomorrow
like light hiding in the edge of night.
Life is a secret never fully told.
We plan with confident hands,
draw futures in careful lines,
as if time had signed an agreement with us.
But tomorrow listens to no one.
It arrives changed,
or not at all.
Dreams bend, paths vanish,
and certainty dissolves like mist.
We chase meaning,
believing control is ours,
while time moves softly,
counting us without sound.
Everything becomes a matter of waiting
for joy, for loss, for change,
For the moment, we understand
We were always passing through.
And when we perish,
It is not defeat,
But the final reminder:
We were never owners of time,
only travelers,
carrying hope
from forgotten beginnings
into whatever comes next.
© 2026 Gloria Penelope
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