He calls it love, but it falls in pieces, not a feast, just crumbs scattered at her feet. She gathers them in silence, hoping one day they will become something whole, something warm, something real. But his hands are empty of truth. His smile, a mask polished for display, soft words rehearsed like lines in a play He never meant to live. Behind her back, his absence speaks louder, his presence thinner than the promises he makes. He moves like he owns her, like her heart is a place he conquered, not a gift he was given. And still he says, “I love you,” as if the words alone can cover the distance between what he shows and what he is. What a quiet kind of cruelty, to offer illusion and call it devotion. But she, she is not made of fragments. She is not meant to survive on less, to shrink herself into the shape of his half-love. There is a truth waiting for her, somewhere beyond his shadow, a love that does not pretend, does not disappear, does not make her question her own worth. Because...
He calls it love,
but it falls in pieces,
not a feast,
just crumbs scattered at her feet.
She gathers them in silence,
hoping one day
they will become something whole,
something warm,
something real.
But his hands are empty
of truth.
His smile,
a mask polished for display,
soft words rehearsed
like lines in a play
He never meant to live.
Behind her back,
his absence speaks louder,
his presence thinner
than the promises he makes.
He moves like he owns her,
like her heart is a place
he conquered,
not a gift he was given.
And still he says,
“I love you,”
as if the words alone
can cover the distance
between what he shows
and what he is.
What a quiet kind of cruelty,
to offer illusion
and call it devotion.
But she,
she is not made of fragments.
She is not meant
to survive on less,
to shrink herself
into the shape of his half-love.
There is a truth waiting for her,
somewhere beyond his shadow,
a love that does not pretend,
does not disappear,
does not make her question
her own worth.
Because she is not nothing.
And love,
real love,
does not leave you
hungry.
© 2026 Gloria Penelope
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