Secrets are pain and hurt. They are desires and wants and needs and heartbreak and tears and excitement. They are a flutter of words. A rushed whisper. A slow and drawn out confession. They are trust, sometimes naive and sometimes desperate.
Secrets are smiles and giggles and private jokes, glittering eyes and barely contained excitement.
Secrets are poison and secrets are contagious. They spread from person to person in a breath or a touch quicker than a Californian forest fire. They mutate like a virus- changing into ‘gossip’, and then openly discussed.
Secrets are a hot commodity. Everyone wants to have each others, to snatch them from reluctant lips and become the proud owners, to flaunt them in front of other friends.They belong to others- someone else’s words, someone else’s life, someone else’s desires. And yet you have to keep them as if they were your own- cultivate and nurture them and whisper platitudes and thanks to their giver. They are a hallowed promise, a show of a relationship, an unwritten sign.
They are yours. Your words. But this time not whispered to another, instead whispered over and over in your head, never to escape, batting from wall to wall inside your mind, hurting you and torturing you.
Secrets are a part of a person. They grow, and they feed on your internal tears and anguish, becoming stronger and stronger, until they eat their way out, tearing you up in the process. You have to be strong and brave and mysterious to keep all the secrets you are given, and even stronger to keep your own.
Secrets are childish. Playground games and making or breaking friendships.
Secrets are dangerous. Adult lives and making or breaking relationships.
Secrets are pushed to the back of the mind in the day, hidden by conscious thought. But they pour out in the night, when the subconscious sneaks in through the darkness, when you are left alone in the black. Sleep doesn’t stop them- they slip into your dreams and force you to confront them where there is nowhere to hide. Secrets take away your freedom and trap you in their meaning.
Secrets are arguments and lies and problems, awkward silences and lengthy pauses, confrontations and reparations.
Secrets become burdens. Light as a feather- a breath of air, a gentle whisper, yet weighing more than the earth. You pass them on if only to lighten the load.
In the end they fade and fizzle away, dissapate into nothingness after their fifteen minutes of fame. Like a Big Brother contestant or the next Saw sequel. Forgotten, unimportant to everyone except you. Because they were yours for that short time. They still are. And they still affect you. You wish you could walk away, forget them, but you can't.
Secrets are problems.
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