Confessing; getting one's burden off his chest
Yet not knowing the chance, the odds of the outcome
Tide pools become permanent waves of either of the two;
The burden of riddicule, or the hope of the best.

Informing is not enough, explaining is too much
Just the right words are a slender target
What you might say, or how you say it
Affects many possibilities as such

Beginnings must be clear,
Endings must be near,
The middle left alone

Yet, to know still the right words
It is not easy to find them
Nor will it always prompt
You will always find your chords

In the end, you will be heard
Your thoughts might change many
Your life might be at ease
All because of one word

But be forewarned
There will always be consequences...