Surely you remember the betrayal.
From….was it yesterday?
Last week?
A few months ago?
Or has it been years now?
Have you cried? Paced up and down? Woken up with a sudden fearful start?
And was it because of the bitter hurt of being betrayed, or was it because of the cold metallic guilt of betraying someone else?
Got a secret, can you keep it?
Swear this one you’ll save…
An inevitable temptation to re-examine and rethink earlier, black-and-white statements about “I’d rather be honest” and “I’d rather know than be deceived”…
I see her standing on high moral ground… Lonely… Alone… With wreckage and debris all around her, and no possibility of magical phoenixes.
Truth yields fleeting satisfaction.
And then…
All that’s left is regret.
Surely you remember the regret.
The incessant “why-didn’t-I-just”…
The ruthless reconstructions….the defining moment just before the-point-of-no-return.
Wondering why you did it.
And wondering why you told.
Surely….life would have been simpler, happier if some things had been concealed….secreted….locked up in a neat, shiny treasure chest and taken to the grave…
But…
…no-one keeps a secret
Why when we do our darkest deeds, do we tell?
’Cos everybody tells…
Remember the look on your friend’s face?
Or was it your lover?
Or did you look into the face of your brother?
Or perhaps, your sister?
Were you speaking?
Or were you being spoken to?
Snapshots veer into the haze.
Years of midnight snacks, and gossip sessions.
Endless phone-calls.
Being held.
Falling over with laughter on the staircase.
Car-rides with comfortable silences.
Being supported.
Cold beer and togetherness.
Road trips to the mountains.
Being cherished.
Barbecues on the terrace in winter.
Finding a special song.
Being loved.
All that is remembered in those moments is already tinged with nostalgia.
And did you wish, later, that you hadn’t been able to work up the courage to do it?
Because….it wouldn’t really have changed anything….would it?
I’ll keep you my dirty little secret
Dirty little secret…
Don’t tell anyone or you’ll be just another regret
Who has to know…?
He told me his universe altered when it happened. When the betrayal happened that is, not the telling of it. She was an old childhood friend….it was a weak moment….it meant nothing….and it was certainly a one-time-thing. There really wasn’t any point in telling the love of his life what had happened. Things were going well, and they were going to get married in a year or so.
Who has to know, when we live such fragile lives
It’s the best way we survive
Regardless of all that, his world tilted.
Sleepwalking through the next few weeks. Zoning out of conversations.
Not thinking.
Not breathing.
So very still…
River turned stone...
Are you hypnotized by secrets that you’re keeping?
“Things came back into focus only when I told her.”
She left him. He’s currently working himself to death and, when he’s not doing that, he’s drinking enough to send himself to an even earlier grave.
“The price of living an honest life,” he cracks a sardonic grin.
Ah.
“At least I have that.”
At least you have that….
And so, after all the beating around the bush, and all the insensitive allusions, and all the questions that must have made you cry….at last now, let me answer your question to the best of my abilities.
I don’t know whether you should tell, or not.
Either way, there will be repercussions that we cannot even imagine at this point in time. Either way, life will change. Whether explicitly, or in subtler, hidden ways.
Consider him. Consider your life together.
And then… Turn inward, and investigate your own heart.
What would you want? From him?
Absolute, razor-sharp honesty? Or a tenacious weighing of factors, determined by circumstance, implication, and so on?
Therein, I suspect, lies your answer, or at least a shadow of it.
What you want is a marker of what your want your equation to adhere to.
Let that help you decide.
That’s the best I can do.
And when we look back, many years later, hopefully we will discover humour even in this situation. For now, let the pain hone you.
We all do the best we can.
And, if it’s any comfort….
Everybody hurts.
