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 ...
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