2006-11-20
A Secret
Once in every few weeks, I visit Postsecret. I don't really know why I do, sometimes I think its because it reminds me that there are other people in this world who feel.
I don't identify with the secrets there, their secrets. And because of this, I have never felt compelled to send in any of my secrets. But I go back to Postsecret, because I think I know what it is like to have a secret.
I peruse the secrets systematically, going down the page one by one, even if it means stopping to wait for a secret jammed in the middle that wouldn't load. If a secret doesn't show, I don't read the rest that follow. I don't read ahead, I don't go back.
Each secret takes me about three seconds. I read the scrawly handwriting, then I take note of the way the postcards have been constructed. Then I look at the whole deal, and think to myself, this postcard's a good one. Sometimes, I tell myself I should remember this or that one. But I never do.
But I think if I should tell myself to remember this secret, I would.
No hearts, no pretty drawings. No heavenly music, no flying. No poems, no cryptic messages. No way to acknowledge, no telling.
I wish I could love you.
This is my secret.
It's not that I don't feel anything - on the contrary, this thick, brown feeling never leaves me. Not thick enough for love, not thin enough for nothingness.
I don't want it to be a secret anymore, but it must. It must.
And you know what? You won't be reading this.
nothing ever happens at 9:39 a.m.