Secrets

shh

Shh

 

 

[This ought to be read with an occasional Dr. Seuss-y lilt]

 

 

 

Guilty confessions can be such fun. Consider this mine, though it’s partly about yours:

I may not agree with your sense of guilt, real or put-on, but I definitely approve you telling me. I listen a lot more closely when you say “Don’t tell anyone, okay?” Don’t worry, I won’t. At least, it won’t be followed by your name.

What is it that draws me to tales of conflict? Betrayal, jealousy….it all seems fair game.

Why do I enjoy you telling me why you wouldn’t go to your friend’s wedding? I don’t object when her history follows. I don’t know her, have never met her, but about her, have now gathered snippets of information.

How do I still consider myself a compassionate human being with such convoluted investments in conversation?

Can I justifiably explain a heart that jumps a little for joy when you want to share woeful stories of your complicated relationship?

Wait, when did you have a tattoo?

Drama excites me, more than I care to admit. If I could, I’d reserve a spot in the sidelines, with a tantalising view. That way, it’s a comfortable distance- I don’t feel alone in my guilt, yet not too much like the central audience. I find it hard to believe I’m the only one with squirrel-like attention. But, that’s only because I know I’m not. Things take a gratifying turn when we discover the nuts.

Strangely enough, I prefer reality or television, never together(what an unholy mixture). But, who’s to state the difference between the two? Especially when I say TV is my life.

I know, you don’t think it’s fair. I’m terribly guarded with secrets of mine, and if you know me at all, nearly everything’s a secret. It’s only out of a deep-rooted fear that you’ll judge me as harshly as I judge you and possibly worse. You have no way of knowing, but I’m privately paranoid and have it all worked out- who should know what and just how much. Let me show you why you don’t necessarily have the harder job.

(Me worrying about you wondering about me)= (You wondering about me) times infinity

 

I think the scale balances out in the end.

 

Signed,

A Good Listener 😉

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