SECRETS

Every person carries at least one thing they have never told anyone. The thing that lives entirely inside — not necessarily because it's terrible, but because it's too specific, too revealing, too likely to change the way someone would see you if they knew. Some secrets are large. Many are not. What they share is the weight of maintenance: you have to hold the shape of the version you've presented to the world while keeping the other version separate.

Telling a secret — even here, even anonymously, even to a void that won't remember — does something to its weight. The interior becomes slightly less small. The thing that was only inside now exists, once, somewhere else.

This thread is that somewhere else. No names. No consequences. Just the thing, finally out of your head.