troubles me.

Never have I held and kept a secret, never have I told a secret and thought it to be held. But drunk words I have rattled to you- have you told them? have you kept them? have you not set a thought to them? Only a fool could think it so.

Tears had mocked me as I sobbed to you, was she near? who else heard? - I could not say. Thoughts were not with me, as I gushed three years of blood and gut and rot and passion on you, I did not and could not care for the consequences or doom of my tongue.

I pray if any secret could be held and kept, that it be this one. I’ll curse every other word of mine to be sold, if this one may not.

For her to know, I cannot even grasp that reality, the vulnerability, the dread, the unimaginable ache I feel to even broach your knowing- it is too much.

Now, I keep a secret- I dare not tell it, if I loose it, I have no hope you will keep mine.

Some days, when it is just you and I, or I and her- I almost dare to ask, to know, to be certain and sure. But I could not handle any truth from that question- to know she doesn’t know, but to ask and show I’m still tormented by a mangled love- to risk the chance of divulging even more of my twisted heart- I could not. Worse- to ask and have my fears come true- to smother my hopes and be aware she’s heard all my heart has born for her- I would not be able to face her, I would not be able ‘be’ in any presence of hers- I think I’d kill myself and save heart the torment, maybe I’d move back home- but I’m certain I would try upmost to forget and erase any thought, and whisper and echo, shadow, or image of you from my life. I’m sorry for any position I have put you or her in- for either of you for keeping any secret any way. But please, pray keep it just and always another day.