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 ...
What am I?
A simple person with a smile,
not one that appears on command,
but one that rises
only when it means something.
I have felt the weight of words
that were never true
slander that cut without proof,
betrayal that came unannounced,
criticism and hatred
placed on me without a single sin.
They say I do not laugh.
That is not the truth.
I think carefully.
I listen deeply.
I choose my laughter
only where it is safe
to let it live.
Life has shown me fire
I have burned
without season or warning.
Pain arrived early
and stayed longer than invited.
So tell me;
Where would my smile come from
after such a life?
It waits quietly,
not broken,
Just cautious.
Resting until the world
proves it can be kind enough
to deserve it.
© 2026 Gloria Penelope
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