Moments hardly seem forgotten,  
        hidden beneath grief and deceit,  
unknowingly present and accounted for. Reminders; 
a receipt of relationships bought and paid for  
   with the gentle dishonesty  
      of indirect falsehoods. 
          We lie to one another, yet
           rely on each other to uphold the truths  
           which once seemed so consequential. 
               We don’t talk like we used to, or even at all. 
    When did we tire of each other’s voices? 
                 How would we know? 
© 2023 j.g. lewis