Colourful and Precious

I have received some critics concerning my poor English these last days.
Imagination is what I need, I think.
Because, why not trying authentic compound fortunate sentences?
Losing hope is not what I need, I dare say.
Because now I am the only one who knows what I am exactly saying,
but the most precious and valuable concept
and idea
is that I precisely do not understand myself.
Do we always, whenever, recognize our own feelings? Can we in every moment express in words or in our own language what we would like to say and to comunicate to others?
Does the information flow?
Even if they don't understand, is it all understood?
Sometimes I wonder why is all so difficult, or so easy. Maybe it's not really important if the other person does not receive the exact meaning of your intentions.
And, at the same time, you cannot believe everything you read, listen or think so. The words have their own meaning, but when they are put together, side by side, they adopt another one. A better one? Who knows.
Sometimes this redoubtable and suspicious one is the what makes things go by, go through your body, your mind, your sex.
Every day is a special one, so let's take advantage of the moments we have and love. There is no need to look far away in space and time, or should I say in space-time?

I hope that somebody helps me untie all this. It pretty much seems that I don't want to look at the sunrise by myself.