Torn

There are times when I am a privilaged keeper of secrets.
Revelations and confession, deep and dark secrets, are they cause for regret? or just personal.
And there are other times I keep two.
Two secrets. Two people. Two confessions.
One situation. One listener. One conflict.
A conflict between doing the right thing and the correct thing.
Between justice and fairness.
Trust and faith.
Love and loyalty.
Heartbreak and hope.
There is no right and wrong, black and white.
Only grey, more shades of gray than conceivable.
And then you fall into the abyss, it adapts and accomodates;
to swallow you whole;
Incomplete.
Upheaval.
There is no redemption, no return.
Words once uttered cannot be withdrawn, not like the sword.
Letters once written cannot be erased, no not like a pencil.
The pen is mightier, yes mighter than the sword.
More damaging.
Put your foot in your mouth, and leave it there.
Let your hands loose, to fly over the keyboard.
Enter.
Release.
Delete.