2001-11-27 || 8:01 p.m.

|| secretly i cannot keep secrets. ||

i have a lot of secrets. there are fanciful ones, the kind i concoct while riding the bus in the morning or in the bathtub with the water too hot. nice secrets. smile at your reflection in the medicine cabinet mirror secrets. like running away and sea coasts and ice skating at night. trips in cars to significant places and cryptic formulas written up my arm in felt tip pen. (isn't it strange how secrets inevitably involve other people. who have no idea they are resting so close to a beating heart. their names are integral to the lub dub, lub dub, and yet they walk on the sidewalk like everyone else. they look in the mirror and fear no one loves them like everybody else. too many people's names are written on my heartbeats and they are none the wiser. it's criminal. it seems like death is the only screwdriver strong enough to pry the names off and bring them to real live spoken words, but that's always too late. there is always too much dirt and formaldehyde involved.)

there are other secrets. and i am very superstitious about them. i do not say them aloud. i joke about them with one breath and in the next i am shuddering and watching their implications projected as scenes in the future. starring roles and cameos and guest appearances. being typecast. i am fulfilling my reputation for compulsive worry and lip biting. contributing factors. the machinations of the body. the way time plays tricks and i'm counting on fingers making lists mapping out all the possible scenarios secrets that are so heavy and alive that i have not been sleeping.

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