Speak to understand, understated. What would understanding beget? Proceed without knowing a would from a could, oceans have chosen for us before we design our fate. What gives meaning to a memory if it fades a away? Sway ahead. Don’t mistake silence for a kiss, but if I don’t err, could I miss what never was? Puddle's stains. Our journey is offset by instants. The hesitant second split in two as if the eternal could speak too. If I had cried because my instincts had split a second, half in a relief, the other half haunting in regrets, I would never forgive my mistakes. Wallowing spreads me slow, puddles inside, mud doesn’t let me forget. Hear nothing, choose nothing, kiss the silent, safest to speak against gale heartbeats if everyone’s asleep near a foggy anticipation, we're mist. Will you sleep near the mountains steep? I’ll await near you to gain from an omission, the permission to reach me from a memory grin unless the gale has shifted again toward a fate that's often mistaken.