Deserving

It's all relative.

Degrees of transgression. Malice versus encouragement.
Love and hate.
That fine line we are all afraid to tread and tremble as we approach, forced or by choice.

On your side, you see it crossed. On mine, I'm still on the right side.

But reality is about perception.
And I saw your side.
I see your side.

And now, I'm on your side. Pointing at me. Hating me.

At the same time I cower and cry and beg for mercy and forgiveness,
I stand along you, stoning me, casting me out.

I'm not deserving, yet, am I?

I hurt you that much that I still deserve this, don't I?

You didn't deserve to hurt this way.

But what's the threshold, now?
The sentence is over, now.
Or did you forget?

I turn to see if you are still ready to throw the next stone,
but you're gone.

I go to the chambers, and the judge isn't there.
I seek the jury, and there is none.

I'll throw the stones in your absence, but tell me...

When am I deserving enough for your return?