In our conspiracy of two
I am silent to your faults
and you do not mention mine.

In our plot of ignorance
arguments are kept at a minimum,
adjusted to our preferences.

In our bubble of pain
the threshold is set ever higher
to keep out the truth.

In our ballet of unrequited love
we dance around controversy,
gliding over our irritations.

In our universe of two
we created a black hole of avoidance,
waiting for it to swallow us.

november child
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