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♪ Sharon Jones & The Dap Kings ➝ I Learned The Hard Way |
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Boys and girls, boys and girls, I disappear for a bit and you all run rampant without me? Figures. I should take my eyes off you for longer just to see what other tidbits you'd start sharing all on your own. My name's becoming synonymous with secret and I'm not entirely sure I don't dislike it. I love little confessions wherever they lie, whatever they're about, and especially with an anonymous tone. Don't we tell the best truths when no one is looking anyway?
I love how secrets are straight to the point. There's no messing around with too many words to guide you away from the actual issue. There's no place for questions, although I've seen some of you try. I always wonder who's really answering those. Secrets are, by definition, not known or seen or not meant to be known or seen by others. A confession on the other hand, is first and foremost a formal statement admitting that one is guilty of a crime. If you merely whisper it when no one is looking though, can one say it ever really happened at all? Those nights you spend hidden away in someone else's bed or wishing you were, do they count if you never tell?
It's fun to think about, right? These terrible little thoughts that find a home in a meaningless little internet box. I'm not the first one to play collector and I'm sure I won't be the last. Someone has to be the one who collects color postcards, secrets from you guys, and six word stories. Someone also has to be the one to collect the things we wish we could say to lovers gone and past. I found a secret lover's dream book today, Dear Old Love by Andy Selsberg. He got married and in doing so decided the way he'd settle into his new life would be to reconcile all the extra desire, fondness, anger and regret by bottling it up and throwing it out on the internet. So he started the Dear Old Love project. A place where people can send messages to former flames and objects of affection-all anonymously. A good Dear Old Love note is a long, sloppy story of a heart, condensed into a line. Something like this;
Dear old love,
You are the mistake I keep on making.
I have to believe our relationship continues to play out in all those particles of cigarette smoke we exhaled together.
When I play air guitar, you're my audience.
I'm dreading the first snowfall because I'll have to remember a Sunday, white sheets, and pillow creases on your face.
If all I cared about was producing a genetic masterpiece, I would've stayed with you.
I could live in the same small town my whole life if you were there, too.
All this would be so much easier if I hated you.
If he had been you, I would have straddled him on the counter and made quick, sweaty work of things. Since he was him, I kissed him twice and headed home.
We were way too hungry for each other to get married.
Even more examples can be found here.
Now leave poor Candice's wishing well a pretty place and play dirty over here. I'm the queen of confessions, right? Well, let's play a new game.
Dear old love.... what do you have to say?
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