Secrets

Secrets. Never more exciting than to have them spoken about in hushed tones, steeping oneself in the convoluted thoughts they inspire. Almost as if they exist merely for the thrill of passing them around.

But is there a beauty in keeping a secret? Something no one else really knows, save for that one person who shares it with you? Are the both of you, in that case, the sole custodians of a thought... a feeling... that only you recognise.. somewhere only we know?

Today, I was unwittingly alerted to my folly of not keeping some secrets. I argued that they aren't meant to be secrets. Rather, points of happiness and delight you'd want to share, in that beautiful quest to connect with people, spreading your wings far and wide.

But to say I can't keep a secret? For the common fool, an accusation. For the one at least pretending to be otherwise, something a tad deeper.

It wasn't long before it dawned upon me. You don't do any justice to a good secret by  subjecting it to the cruelty of a tempestuous memory - if anything, doing so spurs an almost desperate desire to share it like free candy, hoping for a few thank-yous. On the other hand, perhaps the magic lies in the everyday living of it - quiet yet intense, visible only to the chosen ones.

A secret is kept when it is lived. And is lived, when kept.