SIX The Musical Group Chat

My Secret Keeper

~this isn't really a fanfic but I didn't know where else to post it, comment if you like it or want more of my writing in this style, sorry if you don't want to read it cuz it's not a fanfic, but it's short so I hope you will at least read a little~

Secrets are like leaves, everybody's seen them, they are green and lush throughout summer and spring, but then –when they grow old or the wind of speech blows a little too hard– they fall. When a tree has too many leaves –when the branches weigh too much, or the shadows block the sun from reaching its roots– they kill the tree.

My secrets weigh me down. Winter is coming and they wish to fall, to be spoken aloud– but I know I cannot. Secrets are the one thing that must stay silent, some must never be spoken. And even though I know this, my branches waver, and the wind blows stronger, urging me to let go of the leaves I clutch onto ever so dearly.

"Secrets, silent, stony sit in the dark palaces of both our hearts: secrets weary of their tyranny: tyrants willing to be dethroned." Wrote James Joyce. I think this is wrong. I think this is a lie. Secrets are not tyrants, secrets are assassins. Secrets are waiting to bring down their keeper, waiting to cause harm.

At least, most are.

Mine are.

"Three things cannot long stay hidden: the sun, the moon, and the truth." Said the Buddha. This is also not true. At least not entirely. It is true that the truth never stays hidden, unless the secret keeper is not able to summon speech or the will to write. But– but the sun can hide, the moon can go dark. When leaves block the sky.

When the secrets become too crowded, too dense... they keep you from feeling the light of a clean conscience. So, what happens to a tree when it cant thrive? I think we all know the answer to that. But the real question is; when will winter come?

Winter is when the leaves fall, leaving the tree bare. My winter is coming, I can feel it. When will I release my secrets? When will my leaves fall? I don't know.

But what I do know is that summer has ended. My leaves are turning to the shades of autumn, and soon, they will wither and die, they will die when they fall, and they will fall when I cannot hold onto them any longer.