Secret used to be so fun as a kid.
You usually only told 2 or 3 friends the “biggest” secrets you had.
Who your crush was or how you accidentally broke the window and blamed it on your brother.
But I’ve noticed as I age my secrets are no longer fun.
My horrific depression and crippling anxiety are not fun.
These scars on my arm and legs are definitely not what one would call fun.
But they’re the only secrets I have.
And I’d like to keep them that way.