I could respond to you as Earth: hard as mountainface, remembering every facet of growth malignant, adhering to the sands of as happened.
I could respond to you as Water: the ebb and flow of emoting waves crashing in the tempest, heavy rains under the thunderclap of embittered tears, salty spit in forlorn youth's dredge.
I could respond to you as Fire: the heat righteous of the purifying flame, lacerating furiously upon the fuel, consuming.
I could respond to you as Wind: fickle and turning, hot and cold, shifting from obstruction, riding free from guilt 'twixt the heavy.
I could respond to you as Aether: the unsaid, ruminating unknown, feeling all the invisible and being the un, unaffected, unperturbed, untouched, unspoken, the push unfelt, the pull unheard.
I wont.
Ill speak as such. The subtle. The 'neath. The propellant. The binding. The unconditional love. The reverberation universal. The soft and yielding.
You ask for forgiveness, so it is in writing: with the power that I own not, I forgive you, I forgive you.
Now back to subtlety.
Let it be cryptic.
Let many answers go hidden.
Let all questions foster further riddles.
Let the guide do the guiding.
Let the undulations do the tiding.
Let time do the soothing.
Let space lick the wounds.
Let evolution be the precedent.
Let wisdom be the practice.
Let courage be the sword.
Let nudity be the armor.
Let the love be free.
Let the free be free.
With what I have not, I release ye.