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...
There is a place within me
where thought no longer speaks,
where language fades into something softer,
something deeper,
a quiet unfolding that no voice can carry.
It is there that you live.
Not in the simple sound of your name,
not in the fragile structure of sentences,
but in the spaces between them,
in the pauses where my breath lingers
as if it is even afraid
to disturb what you have become inside me.
My thoughts of you do not arrive gently.
They pour,
slow at first, like a distant tide,
then all at once,
filling every corner of my being
until there is no part of me untouched.
I try to gather them,
to shape them into something I can offer you,
something worthy,
something whole,
but they slip through language
like light through open hands.
Because what I feel for you
was never meant to be spoken.
It belongs somewhere deeper,
in that sacred space beneath my ribs
where my heart does not just beat,
it remembers,
it reaches,
It aches for something it has already found.
You are there now,
woven into every quiet rhythm,
resting in every pulse that keeps me alive.
When I close my eyes,
I do not imagine you,
I feel you.
In the stillness,
in the silence,
in the way my chest tightens
as if your presence is too vast
to be contained in something as fragile as a body.
This love is not simple.
It does not arrive as softness alone,
though there is tenderness in it,
a tenderness that makes me careful,
that makes me want to hold you
as if the world itself might break
if I am not gentle enough.
But there is also depth,
a quiet intensity that hums beneath everything,
a pull that feels eternal,
as though I have known you
long before this life gave me your face.
You do not just exist in my heart.
You have become its language.
Every beat speaks you,
every silence holds you,
every breath carries your presence
into places I never knew could feel alive.
And still, it is never enough
to say it aloud.
Because words feel too small
for something this vast,
too fragile for something this real.
How do I tell you
that you are not just loved,
you are needed
in ways that reach beyond reason?
How do I explain
that loving you feels like returning home
to a place I did not know I had lost?
So I stop trying to explain it.
I let it exist
in the way my voice softens when I speak to you,
in the way my thoughts drift back to you
no matter where I am,
in the way my heart steadies
just knowing you are part of this world.
And in the quiet,
where nothing needs to be said,
where everything is simply felt,
that is where my love for you grows.
Endlessly.
Deeply.
Beyond anything words could ever hold.
© 2026 Gloria Penelope
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