Secret, defined as something that is kept or meant to be kept unknown or unseen by others.
We do not speak of them, lest we betray their very essence;
but sometimes the invisible makes up the foundation of how we live our lives.
The history we do not tell to others, the things we hide behind smiles,
behind reassuring eyes,
behind the great lie that everything is ok.
They say that the truth will set you free,
but it is our secrets that define us.
We all wear costumes in this performance of life, hiding what we really think and feel.
I have a secret, or at least one of many.
I cannot tell another living soul about it, but it burns inside of me.
It tears at my heart, thrashing about in my chest, screaming from inside
to be set free.
It is a secret from everyone close to me, shared with only those bound to it.
It is something that I want to build an edifice to, because it is a secret that I built my foundation upon.
There is no physical monument, save the scars that will slowly fade with time;
but my memory of it will never fade.
So I must write it here, even if I am writing about nothing that exists past my own walls.
I must make a mark of it somewhere, I must at least acknowledge its existence,
even if I can never let it see the sun.
I would walk to the middle of the forest,
find a tree that reaches to heaven,
and carve this secret into the bark.
Leave it somewhere I would never visit again,
let it be marked somewhere else forever so I can leave my own behind.
Perhaps one day someone would come upon it and share in it with me anonymously, never knowing its source.
An eternal bond made between strangers to cement one long gone.
Not a day goes by that I do not look down at them,
these remnants of a memory forever etched into my flesh.
I run my fingertips over the scars,
transport myself to the moment of their genesis,
and the moments that they capture.
I am addicted to my past, this stumbling block to my own progress,
I cannot leave them to whither, I cannot countenance their fading.
But I must leave it here, lest further temptation lead me to the deluge.
Life must be lived with things unsaid, actions untaken, feelings never shared,
but they must not turn into regrets.
It is the way of life to have secrets.
Everything cannot be shared, to do so only leaves the ground beneath your feet exposed.
May I always remember, even when they fade away, because I never want the memories to leave my recollection.
It is too precious to part with, to intimate to share, but I must say that they exist; these secrets we build our lives on.