Where Secrets Live

There’s a place where secrets live.

They float.  In the sky.

Like thoughts.  In the mind.

They hide.  In storms.

In lightning.  And thunder.

In wind.  And rain.

In rays.  Through clouds.

At dawn.  At dusk.

Or deep – At midnight.

They’re yours.  Alone.

Not shared.  Not ever.

These are not the kinds of secrets that one thinks of when they see the word.  Those are usually tarnished with bad things.  Or they’re a really, really good and exciting thing that cannot yet be revealed.  Like a gift that’s waiting to be given.

Those aren’t the kinds of secrets I’m talking about.  I’m talking about the secrets that have no words.

Secrets of emotion that a person cannot talk about or speak of.  They have no voice other than how they make you feel.

Sometimes those secrets are of the pain of betrayal, of being stabbed in the back by one that you trusted.  The way that one feels when the rejection letter arrives.  When the success that’s yearned for is just out-of-reach and the haze of failure hangs like smog in the back of your mind.

When the hand of a loved one is held while they die and the holder is left with the memory of that moment of loss.  It becomes a secret that has no name and so it lives up above.   It floats in that emotion of loss.

It can be that sense of time passing and an emptiness that lingers, thinking about the miles that have already been lived and how much less is left, now.  That has no words and so lives above, floating, wandering like clouds that are lost yet waiting to be found before it’s too late.

The feeling that you wish you could change things in the world and make people understand that they are making things worse, not better, but they don’t want to see it.  It becomes a frustration that is like a pressure that no words can be sewn to.  That pressure ends up as a secret.

It’s not just the melancholy that floats, but other things as well.  Like the way that love makes you feel when you see a beautiful thing and it has no words.  Or when you are near something you love and when you stand with it and look at it, something about it makes your heart sing.  It’s just like when the sun comes through storm clouds in the most exquisite light show and somehow it exactly matches that emotion of love that has no words.

It’s a secret.

They’re all secrets.  Those emotions that have no words.  They are so private that you cannot and will not share them because you don’t have the ability.  So they become secrets that are only for you.

Because only you can understand them.

5 thoughts on “Where Secrets Live

  1. “It floats in that emotion of loss.” Perfect. A very different sort of post for you–that I have been privy to, so far, anyway. The photos– a good accompaniment to things quite powerful to speak about and yet hold in hiding.
    Your photos often seem melancholy, and poignant, yet surely full of life. I enjoy all the atmosphere you can impart.

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