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When your gaze found mine #lovepoem #surrealpoem #poetrydaily

When your gaze found mine, the whole world swayed, As if the earth had missed a hidden beat; The sunlight suddenly grew unafraid, Then melted like warm gold around my feet. I tried to look away, but something stayed, A trembling little universe in you; My eyes became two doors I could not close, And every secret seemed to wander through. I felt my cheeks turn roses in the rain, A sudden fire underneath my skin; The stars began to whisper my sweet shame, While little suns kept blooming from within. Your eyes were not just eyes, they were a place, A strange blue room where gravity was gone; I wandered through the silence of your gaze And somehow lost the person I was on. My heartbeat stumbled, then forgot its name, It ran barefoot through corridors of light; I blushed as though the moon had called me beautiful, Then hid my face from heaven's watching sight. The trees leaned closer, jealous of the view, The flowers opened wider just to see; Even the wind became unusually shy, As thoug...
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After the change #poetrydaily #surrealpoetry #sadlove

 After the change,

you will speak of her
as though she were once a woman
and then, without warning,
the moon swallowed her name.

You will say,

“I knew her.”

And people will believe you.

Why wouldn't they?

You have photographs.

You have her handwriting
sleeping inside old drawers.

You have the sound of her laughter
trapped somewhere behind your ribs.

You have the scar
where her goodbye
forgot to become a wound.

You will say,

“She was once mine.”

But you will not understand
what “mine” means anymore.

Because she will have changed
into something language cannot hold.

One morning
her shadow will grow wings.

Her reflection will stop copying her.

She will look into a mirror
and find an ocean
staring back.

And when she walks away,
the ground will not remember
where her feet touched it.

You will watch her disappear
through a door
that was never there before.

You will run toward it.

There will be no door.

Only a wall.

Only your own hands
bleeding against yesterday.

After the change,
she will live somewhere
between a star
and the memory of a star.

She will drink rain
from invisible cups.

She will sleep beneath trees
that grow upside down
into the sky.

Birds will carry messages to her,
but they will forget
your name before arriving.

And you,

you will remain exactly
where she left you.

That will be the punishment.

Not losing her.

Remaining the same.

You will find an old photograph
and recognize everyone
except her.

You will point at the woman beside you.

“There.”

You will say.

“That is her.”

But the photograph will blink.

Her face will become a window.

Behind it,
you will see a thousand versions
of the woman she could have become.

One is made of fire.

One is made of rain.

One is made entirely
of unanswered questions.

One has your heart
in her hands
but does not know
what it is.

Then the photograph
will become ordinary again.

And you will whisper,

“I knew her.”

But the room will answer,

Once.

You will ask,

“Was she mine?”

The walls will answer,

Once.

You will ask,

“Does she remember me?”

And somewhere beneath the floor,
an old clock will begin laughing.

Because time has already
changed the question.

She remembers.

That is the terrible part.

She remembers you
before she became someone else.

She remembers the nights
when your voice
could still unlock her.

She remembers believing
your arms were a country
she could safely live inside.

She remembers waiting.

She remembers becoming tired
of waiting.

She remembers the exact moment
something inside her
closed its eyes
and turned into a door.

You were standing there.

You simply didn't notice.

Now she is beyond it.

Not dead.

Not gone.

Worse,

elsewhere.

A place where your memories
cannot follow.

A place where she has learned
to breathe without your name.

And one day
you will hear someone say,

“She used to love you.”

And you will smile sadly
because that sentence
will sound like an ancient prophecy.

You will say,

“I knew her.”

You will say,

“She was once mine.”

You will say it
with the confidence of a man
holding the ashes of a house
and calling them home.

But somewhere beyond
the last horizon,

she will be changing again.

Her bones will become birds.

Her tears will become stars.

Her heartbeat will become
a distant train
you can hear
but never board.

She will become
the person she was always
trying to become.

And you will finally understand:

The woman you lost
did not disappear.

She escaped
the version of herself
that loved you.

And that is when
you will realize
you were not too late
to save her.

You were too late
to notice
she had already saved herself.

So you will stand
beneath a sky
full of unfamiliar constellations
and say her name.

Nothing.

Again.

Nothing.

Then the stars
will rearrange themselves
into her face.

For one second
you will think
she has returned.

But the stars will keep moving.

And you will understand.

She is not coming back.

Not because she hates you.

Not because she forgot.

But because the person
you are waiting for
only existed
before the change.

And by the time
you finally learn
how to love her properly,

she will already be
someone you never knew.

You will say,

“I knew her.”

You will say,

“She was once mine.”

And the universe
will quietly correct you:

You knew who she was.

You loved who she was.

You lost who she was.

And now,

she is becoming
something beautiful
you were never meant
to possess.

Too late.

Not yesterday.

Not tomorrow.

The kind of too late
that turns a person
into a memory
before they are even gone.


© 2026 Gloria Penelope

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