live to tell

i had quite a visceral reaction to this site. i suppose the rawness of my friday had made me particularly vulnerable (the work situation, though still new, has already de-railed into 'old' terrain, fraught with interpersonal landmines). as i mouse-wheeled down the page, each whisper of a stranger blew straight into my own hollow. i was moved. there's a strange exchange there, where voyeurism meets solidarity. some of the secrets arrest, others soften. but they all compel. and it doesn't matter if they're for real or not. because if someone thought to make one up, then someone somewhere surely lives it. i have secrets of my own. we all do. ones that sneak up and deafen us on the inside. i'm oddly drawn to the notion of confessing in that way. hushedly.