I don’t know why I keep going back and reading Post Secret. I find it kind of unbearably sad. Especially the ones clearly written by teenagers. So painful.
I like to think I don’t have secrets. And I guess I don’t, in the sense that there will never be some be reveal where you’ll find out something about me that you never would have suspected. But really I love secrets. I do things all the time that I never tell anyone about. Not bad things, or gross things, just mundane things, normal, everyday things. But I don’t tell anyone because then the moment, the instant belongs only to me. I also write letters to people telling them exactly how I feel about them and never send them. Again, not bad things, or mean things, though some times painfully true things, but mostly just things. But I can’t put it out there, it would make things too raw, or too uncomfortable, and somehow it would make the emotions less mine.
My own Post Secret would be: I have so many secrets, most not even worth sharing, but I can’t let them go.