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...
It is inside my thoughts
that I have hidden you,
a silent chamber
where your name still lingers
like perfume on forgotten air.
You left your mark upon my heart,
not lightly,
not gently,
but deep enough to become
a wound that refuses mercy.
A scar that does not close,
because love once lived there,
and it lived fiercely.
Life moves forward.
It does not pause for broken things.
Morning still rises,
streets still fill with strangers,
laughter still finds its way to my lips.
Yet beneath it all,
There is an ache
That time has failed to silence.
Memories keep digging,
relentless,
uninvited.
They unearth your voice,
your touch,
the warmth we once called forever.
They replay what was
as though it never truly ended.
And though we walked away,
though distance claimed what love once held,
you remain.
Not in my hands,
But in my mind.
An echo that stays awake,
a presence that does not fade,
a memory still alive
in the quiet corners of my thoughts.
For love may have passed,
and seasons may have changed,
but you,
you remain
where I keep you most,
within the endless whisper
of my mind.
© 2026 Gloria Penelope
Comments