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 ...
You carry a degree like a crown, Holding it so high That you no longer see The people standing beside you. Your words are polished, Your certificates framed, Yet your heart has forgotten That wisdom was never meant To make another feel small. Education should sharpen the mind, Not harden the soul. A poor mind is not measured By an empty pocket, But by a full ego That leaves no room For kindness to enter. The loudest voice in the room Is rarely the wisest. The river that runs deepest Does not announce its depth. So fold your pride Before life folds it for you. Sit where the ordinary people sit. Listen more than you speak. Learn from the hands That built what books only describe. Your degree is an achievement, Not your identity. It can earn you a job and respect, But only humility Will help you keep it. When knowledge walks hand in hand With a humble heart, People won't remember your title, They'll remember How you made them feel. © 2026 Gloria Penelope