I like having a secret. I do. It doesn't have to be a big thing or really anything at all, just something small.
"Wouldn't it be nice to be totally open with someone?" she asks.
"No," I think. No. No, I can't imagine that. For one person to see in every depth, in every hollow, to reach out and pull in the bottoms of my soul. The idea makes me cringe, it threatens my independence somehow. I like to be unknown. I like when someone can't fully figure me out. It's what makes me interesting... I think.
Can you imagine sharing your inner turbulence? Your scrutiny? The crazy things you day dream? The way you long to feel wanted, and cry to sad songs, and dream of lost lovers, and laugh uncontrollably, all in the arms of someone who sees you and yet never can know all there is to be known...
No...
How can you possibly communicate the reason you are crying alone in the driveway, again... when you don't know yourself? How can you whisper secrets hidden so deep, that even you must unlock boxes, find hidden keys, fight demons.... No. No No No.
Secrets. Secretes are easy. Secrets are safe. Secretes are things that maybe, one day, could be known.
But, they won't. Unless you decide.
If nothing else... A secret is something you can control.
And yet... and yet...
How I do long to be known.
