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The keeper of the keys
The keeper of the keys

Once upon a time, we had secrets.

There were the beautiful secrets about forbidden dates and hidden smiles.

There were the petty secrets about lies, deceptions and stolen trinkets.

There were the dark secrets about those we had hurt.

There were the dangerous secrets that could unleash hell.

Secrets made us. Secrets defined us. Secrets made us different from the other people. Secrets helped us build empires.

One day, we were seduced. That gorgeous creature told us that our secrets were hers, all hers. She told us that she couldn't love us if she didn't know who we were. If only we could give her the keys. She almost said please. What was the point of having secrets after all? We didn't trade our secrets; we just left them rot in the basement. We even forgot about them. We pretended that nothing had ever happened. That the dead ones were actually living far away. That lies were actually truths. That stolen wares had been paid full price. That we had never met that woman or that man. No, really? Really.

We gladly gave her the keys. Now she held them in her delicate hands, toying with the ring that held them together, making them dingle and cling. She said that she would unlock those doors, one by one, and have a peek. She would laugh at the lovesick puppies, blackmail the thieves and pity the liars. So much power in those little keys. Because we no longer had secrets,