Sort of

I, sort of, regret to have smiled in your face,
'cause the moment later you turned away.
I, sort of, am hurt and deeply disgraced,
and there's nothing in it that would make my day,

because love's not essential truth, but it is
just some thinking about it and making believe
and I'm, sort of, afraid to receive the release
of my temperous thoughts. I'm ashamed to perceive

the solution of hopeless research and belief
in some dreams - inconsistent and also naive,
'cause the things I was told are not there all the same
and my hope - based on nothing - is, sort of, in vain.

Dear friend, I've been told to, sort of, shut my mouth,
but the moment of truth's now the moment of love.
Can you hear my heart's wild and conceivable bounce?
Or you think it's just, sort of, senile woman's cough?

I still, sort of, regret to have smiled in your face
and said some, sort of, harsh unforgettable words,
but I hope that your God high above in the space
will forgive me, and bless me, and give me new hopes.