Can you keep a secret?

I want to tell you a secret.

The secret is this:

I am a blank page
full of sand scribbles
rubbed away pencil marks
etching my past
imagining my future
filled with a longing
that is both deafening
and enticing
and you are a blank page
with spaces devoted
to feeling
dragging yourself in
to pyres that will devour
because we are all
in different
places, in different
mazes that are trapped
within minds that want
without wanting.

So don’t,
don’t keep it in.

Maybe it’s not about winning
or trying
or failing
or succeeding.
Maybe it’s just 
sharing and hoping
and preying
and saying
that it’s not alright
and it’s not OK
and it’s not fine.
Maybe it’s just having
someone out there
to acknowledge
that we are not the same
but we are
games that we

were never meant to play.

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