Atone

In the ephemeral moments between subtle misery
We bite our tongues to avoid our discomfort
We slowly attune to glances exchanged
In place of benevolent words that could help soothe the aches

We behave in a way that makes us believe we've grown unfamiliar
But the frail disposition of love is so swiftly displaced
When left to endure the violence of doubt

Slow to atone
A voice I don't hear as my own
Hollow apologies
The longing for condolence
Is relegated to no more than velleity

We reprise our role as strangers

We rehearse small resentments when in isolation
But miss every cue when stood under the lights
Quietened tones to conceal our frustrations
The same melancholia every night

And in our indifference we're quick to surrender
The passion we'd lit to help navigate each other
A stoic hand dismantles love
And before the light is even extinguished
We've reprised our roles as strangers

Slow to atone
A voice I don't hear as my own
Hollow apologies
The longing for condolence
Is relegated to no more than velleity

We'd rehearse small resentments when in isolation
Then choke on the words when reciting our lines
Never perceptive to our situation
The same melancholia every night