thin line

That thin line between the joy of knowing and the pain of being misunderstood is perhaps what breaks every bond.
Perhaps the error was my crossing a boundary, walking down  a path which I was not supposed to.
If I had not perhaps there would have been no room for hurt to exist.
If I had not perhaps there was no question of switching off or cut offs.
And yet I did cross, I did walk...
Do I regret that choice under  an ordinary noon day sun to cross stranger hood, to place trust?
No I don't, what should the mind and heart fear when nothing wrong was said or done?
When I hardly know the reason of a break why should I regret what I did out of  respect and faith?