Words

Words are only words, they aren't necessarily that feeling, the feeling cannot be tyrranised by a simple word, attempting description, the feeling is true, it cannot be perfectly touched by words to describe it, to understand it, to make it feel that it owes to words, mattering most is the feeling, on its own, in isolation, it is naked in itself, and it should turn to no other place, it is right and correct, just where it is, words are like a ship on the ocean and the ocean is a place where mysteries dwell, and how can a ship truly know the ocean? Any more than the ocean can know this particular ship, they are together yet apart, and the night will set them free, it will explain this to the two of them, and women and men are like the ocean and the ship, they are not necessarily understanding of one another, they can have the same close connection and then they can travel apart, love resides in a place of mystery, it does not give itself so easily, is not so available,