Letting my soul speak as I converse is daunting.
How would a familiar stranger ever understand my existence and pain?
My quiet agony, my hidden fear?

When the wanderer stands before me, will the wanderer ever be able to see my unmasked face or my soul that goes deep as the ocean?
Or witness my heart that loves so deeply without measure?

But I must not, I cannot place my heart, my soul into the wanderer’s hands.
I am more of importance than putting the two things I treasure most into the hands of the wanderer or of this cruel world.