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...
It wasn’t meant to last,
That’s what we said at the start,
like two travelers sharing a fire
just to warm the night,
never planning the morning.
We spoke in temporary words,
in almosts and maybes,
in careful laughter that never leaned too far
into a promise.
We told ourselves
This was just a passing season.
But love has its own language,
one that does not ask permission.
It grew quietly,
in the pauses between sentences,
in the way your name
became the first thought of my day
and the last place my mind rested at night.
It lived in small things:
fingers brushing without reason,
silence that felt full instead of empty,
eyes that lingered
just a moment too long to be nothing.
We tried to measure it,
to keep it within the lines we drew,
But love does not follow rules
written by fear.
It spills,
it stretches,
It stays.
What was meant to be brief
learned how to breathe,
How to root itself
in the spaces we left unguarded.
And suddenly,
Goodbye felt heavier than it should,
like something unfinished,
like a story that refused
to end where we placed the final page.
Because love is not always planned,
not always welcome,
not always easy.
But love is love,
and sometimes,
even when it isn’t meant to last,
It does.
© 2026 Gloria Penelope
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