The Passive-Aggressive Waltz
This is the dance we do, a ballet of petty revenge and unspoken slights,
You leave the dishes stacked high in the sink, a silent dare,
I cook dinner for one, pretending you don’t exist,
We move through the house in circles, never colliding, always in step,
Every sigh, every glance, every slammed cabinet a silent confession–
We don’t argue, we compete, a sport of wounds and withdrawal.
You take the car without asking, I rearrange your things,
We tally up each offense and hide the score,
The quiet is suffocating, the air thick with words unsaid,
This is love’s slow strangulation, two partners waltzing with knives behind their backs.
We don’t fight to fix things, just to prove who cares less,
Our weapons are omission, sarcasm, absence, and delay,
No blood drawn, just bruises no one else can see,
Every interaction is loaded, every smile a challenge,
We keep score with smirks and secret victories,
Both experts in sabotage, both too proud to lose.
Maybe one day we’ll shout, rip down the walls,
But for now, we dance–exhausted, trapped,
Partners in this twisted choreography,
In love, but lost in the rhythm of mutual resentment,
Hoping the music will stop before we forget the reason we started dancing at all.