I remember my first secret. The slight gasp as I realized that at that moment I knew the whole story. I remember you pressing for answers and me slowly, painfully unfolding my hidden treasures of truth. I never told you everything. All I have is my own life you see. I am the only one who knows the whole story, who knows the long road of betrayal I carefully navigated. Some nights I awake suddenly with the knowledge of my deceits weighing down on my mind. I write you feverish letters of forgiveness to sooth my grief. If others knew what lived inside of me; might they stop to stare? I have let my pain get the best of me and actually sent you a letter. You will most likely respond firmly, with sympathy, that this friendship thing really isn't working out. When I try to get close you accuse me of manipulation. You say my ways are cold and calculating, measuring every step until you are close enough to be watched from a distance, you won't touch lepers. What you fail to grasp is that every step I take is a tenth of what I want. I would run if I could but my legs command me to stay still. Are my steps for the sole purpose of bringing you closer? Yes. Where is the manipulation, where is the wrong in that?
I love you, this is just one of my truths.