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...
The road did not promise gentleness,
only movement.
We walked with stones in our chests,
learning early that pain
often introduces itself as a teacher.
Dark clouds gathered without warning,
heavy with unshed tears.
Sadness learned our names,
sat beside us in silence,
And sorrow stayed longer than invited.
Yet even in the longest storms,
The sun practiced patience.
It waited behind grief,
threading warmth through broken hours,
reminding us that light never truly leaves.
We stumbled, we wept, we endured
and somewhere between scars and breath,
laughter returned, softly at first,
like a memory testing its wings.
At last, we laughed not because life was perfect,
But because we survived it.
Because pain did not finish the story.
Because after clouds and sorrow,
The heart remembered how to shine.
© 2026 Gloria Penelope
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