some day you will be old enough to start reading fairy tales again

I walked through the metal detector,
holding my breath,
as if I had something to hide.
And I suppose I did,
but my secrets wouldn't set off those alarms.
-Jodi Picoult, Change of Heart

Secrets.

Everyone's got them. Embarassing, silly, horrifying, humiliating, secretly proud of secrets.

My private secrets would make your very hairs stand on end. And maybe even pleasantly surprise you.

But my public secrets are nothing to hide.

Oh, you know what public secrets are. Everyone knows about them. But nobody talks in public about it or even to the person in question about them because 'its secret'.

Whatever.

People talk. They talk and they talk about someone until theyve run out of breath and still somehow manage to find something about that person to talk about the next day.

It defies logic.

And then there are the lies that people try to pass as truths.

Repetition of a lie does not make it a truth.

I know your truths, ladies and gentlemen. I have my sources. People who you think are your friends, tell me. People who I think are my friends probably tell you too.

Complicated small worlds here. Everyone knows everyone else. And everyone has a face for every person they meet and will tell them anything just to know a tad bit more.

Psh.

But just because I know about the reality of your life, even if I know the harsh truth of you, the raw embarassing tales about your life, your adolescence, your wealth, your education, your relationships, your friendships, your scandals, your vices, your hidden desires...that doesnt make me worthy to talk about what is, at the end of the day, your life and your business.

Even if we've never spoken face to face properly about many issues regarding you, I know. Because I know, believe me, I know... and heck who are we kidding?

You probably know all my reality too.

Or at least think you do.

If I fall asleep with a pen in my hand, don't remove it - I might be writing in my dreams

I once knew a girl
in the years of my youth
with eyes like the summer
all beauty and truth.
In the morning I fled,
left a note and it read:

Someday you will be loved.

I cannot pretend that I felt any regret,
'cause each broken heart will eventually mend.
As the blood runs red down the needle and thread,
someday you will be loved.

You'll be loved, you'll be loved,
like you never have known.
The memories of me
will seem more like bad dreams.
Just a series of blurs,
like I never occurred.
Someday you will be loved.

You may feel alone when you're falling asleep
and everytime tears roll down your cheeks.
But I know your heart belongs to someone you've yet to meet.
Someday you will be loved.

-Someday You Will Be Loved/ Death Cab For Cutie

This song resonates through me. I am a selfish giver of love. I am a gentle giver of love. I am a choosy giver of love.

But hard as it is to fathom, I do love.

And I am sorry, but I cannot pretend that I felt any regret for not loving the ones I have let go.

Even if I know maybe they were good for me.

I wonder about a lot of my past loves, sweet as they were, bitter as they were. And I cannot regret loving them (tho I can also say I didnt feel regret letting them go their own way) because at the time, they were exactly what i wanted, but had I known then but I knew now, perhaps I wouldnt have gotten myself tangled up in them. But you know, had I not had them in my life, perhaps I also wouldnt know now what I didnt know then. Complicated. But what is life without love, be it platonic, celibate, fiery, passionate, numbing.

Sometimes its requited. Just as many times, it is not.

My breakups have been funny. There was the one I couldnt forget, who I pined a year for. And then there were the ones I forgot the second after. Love and life is funny sometimes.

Who are we kidding? Its funny a lot of the time.

Its when you make that step to cut the tie of love that can identify how much love really was there, and I am not the best one to love. I am hard to love. I am difficult, you deserve better, I say. (They nearly always do. Deserve better, I mean.)

You will be loved, someday, I have told my pasts. My loves and almost loves.

I broke their hearts, they say. I have hurt them,they cry. Why can I not love them?

I am firm. "You will be loved."

Just not by me.

I am not responsible for your broken heart.

And broken hearts will eventually mend. Slowly yes. But they will.

Trust me. Mine did.

Was I trying to make myself feel better? Was I trying to console them somehow, make up for what I could not find in me to give?

I feel like there was a weight of promise in my words.

I hope I did not give them false hope.

And I always add, even as a gentle footnote to my prayers, day by day, that they really will be loved.

Someday.