You keep your vengeance underneath your tongue, like something holy better left unsung. You count to ten, you smile, you play it kind, while every cruel answer waits behind your eyes. I never learned that particular disguise. I bare my teeth and call it being wise. Let every righteous stranger shake their head— I’ve made my peace with all the things they’ve said. You ask me how I live without the shame. Darling, I just learned to give it someone else’s name. Two hearts, one shared discomfort, two beautifully inconvenient souls. You keep trying to outrun the fire, I keep asking why we need control. You want redemption. I want it too— just never quite enough to follow through. So take my hand, we’ll disappoint them together. Two hearts, one shared discomfort, and somehow that feels better. You say revenge would make you just like them. I say that depends how good you look when it begins. You roll your eyes; I know that little smile— the one that says you hate me for being right once in a while. And when the room decides that I’ve gone too far, you watch me like I’ve swallowed some forbidden star. Not admiration—no, you’d never call it that. Just curiosity with excellent manners and a knife behind its back. You wonder what it’s like to never bend. I wonder how long before you stop pretending. Two hearts, one shared discomfort, two beautifully inconvenient souls. You keep trying to outrun the fire, I keep asking why we need control. You want redemption. I want it too— just never quite enough to follow through. So take my hand, we’ll disappoint them together. Two hearts, one shared discomfort, and somehow that feels better. Maybe love is not salvation. Maybe love is recognition. Someone looking at the ruin and refusing to look away. I don’t need to make you softer. You don’t need to make me good. If the world requires repentance, we can tell them that we would. Eventually. Probably. If there’s time. [Instrumental Break — violin, increasingly chaotic] If I become the thing they always feared, you’ll be the one still standing somewhere near. And if one night your better nature breaks, I’ll never call you monster for the choices that you make. I might say finally. But gently. With affection. From a safe distance. Two hearts, one shared discomfort, two catastrophes learning how to dance. You keep asking if we could be better. I keep saying we should give ourselves a chance— to be worse, to be honest, to be anything but tame. You hide the knife. I show the scars. Neither of us wins this game. No absolution. No grand design. Just your worst instincts getting along remarkably well with mine. So take my hand. Let them stare forever. Two hearts. One shared discomfort. At least we’re uncomfortable together. You still believe that people can be saved. I still believe you’re adorable when you say that.
