how many wrongs turn aright?

You've been through this before, the line, hook and sink. Caught up in the dazzling lights of false pretence, wrapped in a sweet musical discord.

But they stood so far from the crowd, convinced this wrong could be the right one. Ready to jump in. burn all the other bridges and take the lifeboat. Explore the depths of their being.

The adventure had two life jackets but one fiend depth while the other embodied it.

Two zones apart,

held by stretches of syllables,

pixels and

progressive potential, mistaken for a regressive infatuation.

More than friends, but too shy to explicitly commit. It was equal to sin to ever spew the word out. The little reminders you once smiled at now turn your gaze to stone. All the commons now distribute themselves far apart and nothing remains in the normal range. This regression plotted to be linear, but when you overlook outliers repeatedly,  What is left?  

Someone you no longer recognise.

Voice notes, you laughed off instead of shaking the mute out of you. This was okay? Right? He can do this "it is harmless, fun." All the while, your body would scream in silence at the disrespect.

The crossing can happen when clear boundaries are not said. How can you draw a line when you are too shy to speak up? But he loved your "vibe?" Must mean something?  It is true, with words, you can lie as long as the day. But you cannot lie in the recreation of an experience.

Frankly, I never had the right answers because I was too afraid to find the right questions.

Trying to open a door with the wrong key, you find nothing wrong with the key or the door; it is just that some questions are too painful to answer. Some questions I was unwilling to ask. Answers you will never hear me say but can sure enough read.    

Too scared to lose the respect of the person you put on a high horse. They were once nothing short of treasure in your eyes. But you can convince yourself of something that is not there.

When you can not see it, thinking it through is useless.

Sure, I tried hard to see it, but roadblocks appeared each and every time a truth crumbled out of my mouth. It was too heavy for you to handle?  Your tone revealed that before it escaped your mouth. Maybe the idea of what could be was stronger than the flesh of reason. It is said that when a woman is on defence, she can turn into a blade. Sharp and stiff. Immobilised even. But that was never me; I could never pass on pain, not intentionally. I only had child's hands for you, curious with no reason. A hope to be reckoned with. I'd waited out for a connection that fell to the waistline. But you had your checklist, and sure enough, the odds of wrongs could not outweigh into an aright.