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 ...
Take it easy on yourself,
not everything needs fixing tonight,
Not every thought deserves a trial
in the courtroom of your mind.
You don’t have to chase every worry
down its endless hallway,
don’t have to answer every doubt
That knocks like it owns the place.
Let it pass.
Let it be noise, not truth.
Take it easy on yourself,
You are not the voice
that rushes in with criticism,
not the one that twists small moments
into heavy meanings.
You are the one who notices,
who pauses,
Who can choose
not to follow.
No judgment today.
No measuring your worth
against yesterday’s version of you,
or tomorrow’s expectations
that haven’t even arrived.
Just this moment,
uncomplicated,
unexamined,
enough.
Take it easy on yourself,
It’s okay to move slowly,
to not have answers,
to sit with uncertainty
without turning it into something sharp.
You don’t need to solve everything
to be okay.
You already are.
And those thoughts,
the loud ones, the restless ones,
they don’t need to be fought,
don’t need to be silenced
like enemies at the gate.
Let them come.
Let them go.
Like clouds
that were never meant
to stay.
Take it easy on yourself,
You are allowed to exist
without explanation,
without perfection,
without carrying the weight
of every imagined mistake.
There is nothing to prove here.
Nothing to defend.
Just breathe.
Just be.
And for once,
be gentle
with the only place you have,
You truly live:
for yourself.
© 2026 Gloria Penelope
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