The wrong call

Once there was a call,

made with a misplaced digit.

Picked by a person not intended at.

Sharp questions were shot,

Vague words were received.

Painted with abrupt syllables,

beautifully they were answered.

Perennial moments passed.

Sound of the keys had become a music,

And the answer,

healing to a wounded soul.

Sunken deep were tales of benevolent treachery;

And here was the earth to let them decay into.

It wasn’t a gust of fresh breeze; No.

Neither was it eternal.

It was just a wrong number

and a wrong person;

Sequinned in the fabric of time,

just where it should be.

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