There were conditions
set long before any of this.

Clear enough
that nothing had to be guessed.

A line drawn
not in passing
but with intention.

You knew where it was.

You stepped over it anyway.

Not once.
Not by accident.

Repeatedly.
Without pause.

As if knowing
didn’t carry weight.

As if a boundary
was something that only mattered
when it inconvenienced you.

Afterward
it became smaller in your hands.

Reframed.
Reduced.

Something harmless.
Something I was meant
to see your way.

As if scale
could undo it.

Now you return to the same place
asking for the same freedom.

Holding it up
like something being taken from you.

As if it wasn’t already used
exactly as I said it would be.

And I am supposed to stand here
and call it trust.

To hand it back
and believe
that knowing again

will somehow change
what knowing
never stopped before.