It’s that inch forward you walked and tripped over.

It’s that forced smile when tears and puffy eyes scream sadness.

It’s that lid that, when sealed, preserves mold.

It’s that burnt fragment that caused a mystery and several conspiracies.

It’s not too tight, yet it’s constricting.

It’s gray, but with another color mixed in.

It’s all there, yet something is missing.

It’s self-consciousness of thoughts no one hears.

It’s 90 degrees outside, but humid and cloudy.

It’s right, but partially wrong.

It’s halfway through the door.

It’s… off.

If something isn’t quite right, is it wrong?