As human beings we are entitled to certain things, whether it is shelter from the proverbial storm or simply the chance to meet another human being and fall in love. Some people call them human rights, others would just refer to these commonly held practices as the means of living but I personally view them as privileges and among them, secret keeping is one of the most loved and loathed of all the privileges we get to hold.
Now whether you have been with your partner for fifty years or fifty days, the entire process of keeping secrets from your other half is frowned upon, yet, we all do it. Whether you, confused reader, will admit it to yourself or others there are certain aspects of your life, past, present or future that you keep shrouded in mystery from the one whose hand you hold; and why? Because of fear. Fear is the harbourer of secrets and while you are afraid the person you love will never truly know you.
I am of the opinion that to be in love you must know the person whom you claim to own your heart, but not just know them superficially. No, you should know them inside out and back to front because if you don’t, or evenly if you only partially do, you cannot possibly love half a person with your entire heart. So I put it to you that some people, fortunate in their place it could be argued, choose to instead love many people with many different parts of their heart, content in the knowledge that to love any other way with any other fraction of their being would be perilous.
I am one of these people. I love each and every person in my life with a different part of my heart and no one human being owns the whole. To give someone, anyone, the entirety of your heart, the very reason you walk and talk and live today, is in my opinion, terribly irresponsible. Instead, I cut up my heart a long time ago and stored the pieces away inside the hearts of those that loved me most and have loved me the longest. They all carry with them their own individual piece of me that should they wish to return it during the course of our lives together, would simply wilt away and die, causing me not to lose my entire heart and purpose of love, but to only lose a small piece of what makes me breathe.
Unfortunately I cannot tell you that I live this way for any other more poetic reason than that I am scared to death of anyone having the potential to destroy an already scarred heart. If I could I would lock it away in a snuff box in the top drawer of my writing desk and show it to neither man nor beast until the day that I was called to leave the earth and the box behind. I fear not only for myself but for the hundreds of people whom every day profess to love someone with their entire heart. I fear for the day that that heart is returned to them and no longer knows how to function in one person’s body.
I keep too many secrets from too many people to willingly bestow my entire soul to them and not since I was a child, naïve and alone, did I even contemplate what life would be like without those secrets to keep me sane. Now I have never killed a man or bedded another’s soul mate, my secrets are not lurid or devious in any sense, but my secrets are mine. They are mine to keep and though I cannot stash my heart away as I would have liked to, I have the capability to keep my secrets mine forever and never lay them bare to a world that doesn’t care. They will not fester and they will not hurt me, they have been with me far too long to do so, but they will always remain a thorn in my side that even if I were to tell them to anyone, would still persist to nudge me every so often and remind me they were once there.
The art of secret keeping can drive a man insane or make him function as a reasonable human being safe in the knowledge that sometimes fear is a persuasive enough reason to commit yourself to a life half told.