I’m upset,

there is much I want to say,
want to explain.
But I can’t explain

anything with words,
I can’t explain
Anything

with thoughts
or beautifully stitched sentences,
twisting and turning and etching
until they become something recognizable,
something special.

But words are just dressed up;
at the core they are interchangeable.

Nothing is concrete about words,
nothing unless you count the
tic tic-tic-tic
of the key board,
lulling my frantic mind to rest.

Nothing concrete,
words are never concrete.

But actions,
you can’t dismember them into something else.

What you do,
you did,
and you can’t undo it.

So no matter how many words you write to me,
no mater how much I reply,
no matter how much your silence bears down on me,
I just recall actions.

Because words mean nothing,
truly they don’t,

                                       except my words did.

I know everyone can say this,
for again these are only words,
except they are at the core,
concrete in some way.

Although words never are,
believe that mine,
and only mine,
are.

Because maybe in this world,
this world where everyone
manipulates and twists words,
maybe for every person,
there is one person in the world who,
for all their misleading words,
will never mislead you.

They will never twist,
or dismember their words;
they will show you with actions and smiles,
and with their eyes,
that they mean everything.
And it
will turn all their words into concrete,
into fact,
into not only words
but actions
in themselves.

Promises in every word,

untold promises,

but there none the less.

I promise you I mean it all,
for I can’t fake sleepless nights
and the way that my heart shatters,
almost literally by the feel,
when I wake up to me,

                                                               ­        only me.

I can’t explain how it feels,
to wonder if it ever occurs to you too,
knowing that it has and still does,
it must.
Because maybe if you believe in my words enough,
and if I bear through silence,
heavy and mind numbing,
then maybe we can prove our words concrete one day.

I honestly wish for that day,
every first star I see in the sky,
every dandelion,
every 11:11 strike of the clock,

is thrown out into whatever is out there,
whatever ocean of wishes.

Maybe even the ocean we were on,
maybe we even sailed right over it.

Maybe it’s so big,
that only a lucky few get picked from it,
an ocean so vast and full of hope. ..
I’m almost sure that’s where we sailed.

Or maybe not.
But we were lucky once,
I believe it can happen again.
I believe I can see you again.
I believe.