…can they ever be trusted to kiss you “appropriately”? Would anyone even want an appropriate kiss? Have you ever looked back at something that happened years ago and found yourself feeling the physical heat of embarrassment all over again? Have you tried to comfort yourself by saying that you must be the only one who even remembers it? Have you felt un-comforted knowing that’s probably a lie? Should we, as writers and artists start keeping lists of the stories we tell over and over and the stories we have never told anyone? Is there value in excessive sharing and secret keeping both? Is that value similar? Does talking about it too much wear down the edges of something sharp the way secret keeping muddles and grays something either too light or too dark for our poor mundane perception?
-M.
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