When your gaze found mine, the whole world swayed, As if the earth had missed a hidden beat; The sunlight suddenly grew unafraid, Then melted like warm gold around my feet. I tried to look away, but something stayed, A trembling little universe in you; My eyes became two doors I could not close, And every secret seemed to wander through. I felt my cheeks turn roses in the rain, A sudden fire underneath my skin; The stars began to whisper my sweet shame, While little suns kept blooming from within. Your eyes were not just eyes, they were a place, A strange blue room where gravity was gone; I wandered through the silence of your gaze And somehow lost the person I was on. My heartbeat stumbled, then forgot its name, It ran barefoot through corridors of light; I blushed as though the moon had called me beautiful, Then hid my face from heaven's watching sight. The trees leaned closer, jealous of the view, The flowers opened wider just to see; Even the wind became unusually shy, As thoug...
In the middle of something,
not the beginning, not the end,
when the coffee cools
and the door is half-open
and you can’t remember
what you walked into the room to find,
there it is:
life,
unannounced,
sitting at the table
with tears in one hand
and laughter in the other.
They look alike from far away.
Both shine.
Both spill.
Both leave you breathless
and slightly embarrassed
at how much you feel.
In the middle of something,
an argument, a Tuesday,
a crowded train of almost-dreams,
you catch yourself smiling
while your eyes are still wet.
What strange weather
to carry inside a chest.
Did you ever think of it?
Happiness, I mean.
Not the loud kind
with fireworks and declarations,
but the quiet one
that sits beside the ache
and doesn’t try to move it.
Happiness at last,
not as a finish line
or a flag on a distant hill,
but as a soft chair
pulled up next to your unfinished self.
It does not ask you
to stop crying.
It does not demand applause.
It simply stays
while you are in the middle of something,
and whispers,
This too.
This is living.
© 2026 Gloria Penelope
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