That thing we don’t talk about
Of that we mustn’t speak
Yet it’s all around us
In the air, on our lips, on our minds
Always on our minds
We can’t escape it, but we pretend oh so well
The occasional nervous laugh, a reminder of what we know
The side glance, our way of asking if it’s been found out
The whisper, words of worry quietly shared between us
We act as if that thing isn’t real, alive, ever present
We walk away, in opposite directions
And that thing isn’t spoken of
For at least another day
Moretti's Musings 