I trust your words like I trust the breeze,
I believe them to be true but I have no idea of their motivation.

Your words, you give them to me sparsely,
so how come such few, little words, feel so heavy?

Words need thought, yet they seem to come without it,
following the breeze in an uncertain direction.

They’re out of your head now, they’re up in the air now,
and I have no idea whether I’m supposed to grab them or to let them go.

Even in spite of the choice of the ungrasping hand,
here your words settle, here your words stay.

The breeze passed me by, but I still felt it.
Can’t un-feel it.

So next time, be careful what you say.