I’ve kept many secrets in my life. Many. Almost lived two lives in one.
But I’ve never liked it.
There were times, though, when it felt necessary.
There are things I wanna say, subjects I wanna touch, ghosts that linger in the corners of my bedroom at night that I should have long since exorcised.
But I haven’t. I can’t. I probably should.
But I won’t.
Sometimes, it is cruel to speak the truth. Sometimes, it hurts more than it helps. Sometimes there are things that you should say, you want to say, you need to say, but it isn’t for the best. And maybe the better person is the one that chooses to do the least amount of damage as necessary.
Or that’s what I tell myself.
There are things I should say. Truths I should speak. But I can’t. Or maybe I won’t. I know there’s a difference. I wanna talk but I think it’s best I stay quiet, hold on to it.
Maybe that’s why I can’t write.
But I can’t.