Secrets are like birthdays; they always find you, whether you want them to or not, and they seem to add up in a way that ensures you can never go back to the way you were. Some secrets are whimsical, meant to be shared as another secret that weave a web of joyful, fictitious knowing.
But when I heard the hushed whispers from a friend's trembling tongue, full of pain and regret, I knew I could never let go of those gentle, frantic, hisses. To do so would to betray myself, my faith in humanity.
A secret is a sacrifice. It eats away one's being with the knowledge of whatever evil you have become aware until you take on the pain and regret of a life that isn't yours. You see things that other people, unknowing of the secret, fail to realize. Your face becomes a lie to the world that feels like a sin to keep, but damnation to release into the world. The soul is weighed down by what can never be unthought or forgotten.
I alone know that it ever happened. Your purity remained blissfully intact to the outside world, but you chose to trap me in your cold, dark underworld in the cave built of your choices, your mistakes. But in your voice of adrenaline and shaking dismay, with eyes that spoke shadow and fear as that of a child lost in a crowded world, I knew I couldn't say no. I couldn't leave you there alone. And I know that I can never tell a soul why.
Created: Jul 22, 2012WhatTheSchmuck Document Media