the sea inside.

"you seem as though you keep a lot inside," you say. "there's a lot you don't tell people."

this is a jarring observation, given what i've just been talking about, given that i feel i've been on transmit since night fell. jarring, but true. there is a lot i don't tell people. there is a lot i'm not telling you, a lot i'm not telling anyone.

to be perfectly honest, i feel as though i more or less stopped talking last year, when it became clear that what should have been my best audience simply didn't give a fuck what i had to say; that i had been labeled vapid and shallow by the one who was supposed to love me most. when that point drove home, i felt it better just to stay quiet.

but that is neither here nor there.

from this vantage point at the top of the inevitable countdown, i have only one question: will you hate me more if i start to tell you everything, or if i continue to keep my own counsel? because i've been loathed and left for both in my time.