“A secret may be sometimes best kept by keeping the secret of its being a secret.”
You ever avoided asking a question because you already knew the answer and just didn’t want to HEAR it spoken out loud? Yeah, that’s me right now. Reveling in the bliss of feigned ignorance you might say. But he knows that I know……….
For all that he shares with me, he keeps a large part of himself and his life private and it makes me feel like an outsider. Even though he constantly tells me that I’m much more than that. I don’t press the issue because love is about allowing him that freedom, but I would be lying if I said that I didn’t wonder. I’d be lying if I said that I believed him.
And so the moving around begins. The going back to black. The beautiful setting of the sun. Thank God for secrets. For private joys and private hurts. For nobody knowing but me……….
And so I creep. I fade into the shadows of his life. Tucked away in his pocket where I imagine he keeps me for both easy access and entertainment purposes. I spend my time analyzing and overanalyzing our every interaction, no matter how trivial it may be. Concluding that he no longer needs me, I feel as though my work here is done. And yet, there isn’t a thing he could say that would make me love or desire him any less. I’m here to stay. Even though I’ve already been gone.