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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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You Thought of Me Until It Hurt #sadlove #heartbreakpoetry #surrealpoetry

You thought of me until it hurt,
or so the night tells me
when it leans against my window
with your voice in its teeth.

You thought of me
in the quiet hours,
when the clocks forgot how to move
and every shadow in your room
wore my shape.

You remembered my name
like a wound remembers the knife.

But you forgot
how you pushed me away.

Funny, isn't it?

How memory becomes selective
when the heart is trying
to sleep peacefully
beside its own cruelty.

You remember my hands.

The way they reached for you
when the world became too cold.

You remember my laughter,
the little warmth I left behind
in the corners of your life.

You remember the way
I looked at you
as though you were something
worth staying for.

But you don't remember
how you became ruthless.

How your words
slowly grew teeth.

How every conversation
became a hallway
with no exit.

How you learned
exactly where I was soft
and pressed there
until I stopped bleeding
where you could see it.

You don't remember
the doors you slammed.

Only the silence
after they closed.

You don't remember
how many times
I stood outside them,

my hands full of apologies
for things I never did,

my heart knocking
like a stupid little ghost
that still believed
someone lived inside you.

You thought of me until it hurt.

But did you ever think
of the version of me
you created?

The one who learned
to sleep with the lights on.

The one who stopped trusting mirrors
because sometimes
they showed your face.

The one who began mistaking
kindness for a trap
and affection for a countdown.

I wonder if you remember
the night I finally disappeared.

Not dramatically.

There were no storms.

No heavens splitting open.

No angels arriving
to collect what was left.

I simply became quiet.

So quiet
that even my absence
had to whisper.

And somewhere,
you felt it.

Perhaps you looked up
from your life
and noticed a chair
that had always been occupied
was suddenly empty.

Perhaps you called my name
and heard it return
from a distant planet.

Perhaps you missed me.

Perhaps you finally understood
that some people
do not leave all at once.

Sometimes they vanish
piece by piece,

a little hope at a time,

until one morning
you wake up
and realize the person
who loved you most
has become a stranger
with your fingerprints
on their heart.

You thought of me until it hurt.

But I wonder,

did it hurt enough
to remember what you did?

Did you remember
the coldness in your voice?

The deliberate silence?

The way you made me feel
like loving you
was some kind of trespassing?

Did you remember
how effortlessly
you turned tenderness
into humiliation?

Or did you only remember me
because I became beautiful
after I was gone?

That is the strange thing
about ghosts.

We become softer
in the memories
of the people
who killed us emotionally.

Our blood disappears.

Our screams become sunsets.

Our breaking becomes
a bittersweet story
you tell yourself
when loneliness
comes knocking.

But I remember.

I remember everything.

I remember the person
you were before
you learned how to hurt me.

I remember the person
I was before
you taught me
to question my own heart.

And sometimes,
when the moon is low
and the world feels unreal,

I imagine you standing
at the edge of my old life,

calling for me.

But the house is empty.

The windows are boarded.

The garden has grown
over the grave
of who I used to be.

And somewhere beneath the roots,
my old heart is still beating,

not for you,

but because it finally learned

that being remembered
is not the same
as being loved.

So think of me.

Think of me
until it hurts.

Think of every door
you closed.

Every word
you sharpened.

Every piece of me
you watched disappear
and called it necessary.

Think of me
when the room is quiet.

Think of me
when someone loves you gently
and you realize
how violently
you once held me.

Think of me
when your memories
become haunted houses
and every room
contains a version of me
you cannot resurrect.

But don't confuse
your regret
with my return.

I am no longer
the ghost at your window.

I am the darkness
that learned how to leave.

And you,

you can keep
the memory of me.

It is the closest
you will ever come

to having me again. 


© 2026 Gloria Penelope

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