I had a dream last night that you shat all over the clean dishes in my sink. And then stood there and said “That’s disgusting, you better clean that up good!”
Ah yes. Back again, are we?
I hate secrets – resent them really.
It’s a heavy burden I would rather not bear.
I barely know you, but you shat all over my life, years and years ago – and when I figured it out, I was surrounded by shushers. “Shh! Don’t tell! It’s a secret. We don’t want to upset the others!”
And so I must go on carrying this burden seemingly alone. To protect the innocent. I understand.
I forgave you years ago for the giant pile of excrement, but it’s the daily forgiveness that drains me. Repeatedly, I find myself needing to forgive you for the burden of a secret. I may never be able to join the crowd, pretending nothing happened. I may always have to keep my distance. For the secret’s sake. And that is exhausting.
And for my own sanity I must forgive… over and over.
But please, no one else give me any secrets to keep. I am really quite full of the ones I have already.