In the end I think this is what breaks us. Opening up to him enough for him to see, or sense, the vast ocean of things I’ve kept to myself was a mistake. People always say that it’s bad to keep secrets, that they corrode trust. But I don’t think that’s true. It’s knowing there are secrets that you’ll never have access to that rubs away at us. I can’t tell him everything about me, but what I have said is too much.
