Secrets that are meant to be told

Dear Diary,

You confine the few vulnerable interpretations of my heart in ink swirled alphabet.

Conspiring language expounding from the inner most darkest parts of me.

It’s meant to be revealed but only within the walls of theses dotted lines.

Stray eyes that fall upon this invention of exegesis, swallow me whole.

Ingesting my mystery.

Every time I write in secret, I write it with the intention that someone will find it.

And once they do, it would have been written for you.