There is a place inside you No map has ever traced, a quiet room behind the ribs where light forgets to stay. No one sees it when you smile, No one hears it when you speak. It moves beneath your laughter like a river running deep. It is yours alone to carry, not carved for other hands, a language made of silence Only your soul understands. Some mornings it is heavier, a stone you cannot name, And still you rise and wear your life as if it were the same. But pain, it does not leave you when ignored or pushed away, it waits within the folds of time, it learns you day by day. It is not your enemy, though it cuts without a sound; it is the truth you buried but still lives underground. And yes, there are nights it breaks you, when endurance feels too wide, when even breath feels borrowed And there is nowhere left to hide. Yet somehow you continue, not because you do not fall, but because within the breaking You still answer life’s call. You learn to walk beside it, not beneath it, not above...
Break-ups do not shatter in a single sound,
they press down slowly,
a steady weight upon the chest,
as if the air itself has thickened
With everything we can no longer say.
Silence arrives first.
It stretches across the room,
pulls the curtains closed,
replaces the easy rhythm
of familiar voices and shared breath.
Where warmth once lingered,
stillness settles in its place.
The ordinary becomes unbearable,
empty chairs,
a phone that does not light up,
the absence of a name
once spoken without effort.
Loss grows loud in its quietness,
a constant awareness
that something sacred has slipped away.
Two hearts, once aligned,
Now beat alone.
Loneliness does not shout,
it hums beneath the skin,
a low reminder
of what love once sounded like.
Some words never found daylight:
Forgiveness withheld,
truths swallowed by pride,
“I’m sorry,” resting
on the edge of almost.
They linger between us,
unfinished sentences
with no ending.
And so we face the road ahead,
not together,
but side by side one final time,
before choosing separate paths.
Different directions,
different horizons,
carrying pieces of each otherWee cannot return.
The ache follows for a while,
walking quietly beside us.
Yet beneath the heaviness,
something softer begins to grow.
Peace,
slow, stubborn,
pressing its roots
into wounded ground.
It does not erase the past.
It does not silence the memory.
But it steadies the heart,
and whispers gently,
You can keep walking.
© 2026 Gloria Penelope
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