That thing

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

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