We share our stories,
Ourselves,
To a point,
A limit.

Some only reaching the point
In which we extend our finger.

Things which go unsaid...
Unseen...
Unshared.

The darkness in our souls,
Parts of us with the dimmest of lights...
Very few aware of such place.

Secrets upon secrets...
Within secrets,
Things which we carry to our grave.

For some aren't ours to share,
Each building character,
Baring who it is
We really are,
More than we dare to admit.

The things we are willing to die with,
Die knowing that they are unknown...

For a secret
Is only a secret
When one person knows...

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