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 ...
No longer in my heart,
I mean you,
Oh yes, you.
There was a time
Your name lived softly within me,
echoing in places
I thought they were meant to last.
It felt real then,
It felt certain,
like something written
beyond doubt.
But time has a way
of revealing truth
without asking permission.
What we had
has reached its end.
Not in chaos,
not in fire,
but in quiet understanding.
Our destinies
walk different roads now.
No matter how we tried
to meet halfway,
something unseen
always pulled us apart.
Nothing aligns when we speak.
Words fall out of place,
meanings get lost,
and silence fills the space
where the connection once tried to live.
Our souls,
They do not match.
Not in rhythm,
not in purpose,
not in the language
They were meant to share.
It is not going to work.
It tried,
in moments,
in effort,
in hope.
But some things,
no matter how much they are held,
They are not meant to stay.
So now,
I release you
from the space you once had in me.
No longer in my heart,
not with anger,
not with regret,
but with clarity.
Because some endings
are not failures,
They are truths
Finally accepted.
© 2026 Gloria Penelope
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