Like a soft whisper heard in the midst of a crowd,

Like a trick of the light fooling one's eyes,

Like the self-deluded sense of déjà vu,

It's subtle.

A shadow hidden within a shadow,

It's obviously there.

But then again, who's to say that it isnt'?

An almost full moon in the distance,

With only the tiniest of a sliver lopped off the edge,

It still seems full,

And it still seems complete.

It's subtle.

A voice comes to gently speak,

Prodding and following and urging and teasing-

It says that something like this isn't worth the pain.

Something like this doesn't deserve the recognition.

A faltering mouth and hesitant steps,

There is perhaps some room for argument,

Yet there exists no denial.

It is strange.

It is subtle.

The gaping holes in your eyes,

The gaping holes in my hands,

They come to the same subtle conclusion.

Let us speak no more of something so insignificant.

Bite your tongue and accept the unease.