The truth is that none of us really know one another. We think we do but inside each of us is a secret garden. Walled off from our family; disguised from our friends. Within it grow the tangled vines of our demons, insecurities, and hidden longings.
All our lives we plant things there. Things we have done, said, seen, and wanted.
All our lives the key stays safely under the welcome mat.
Pruning shears oiled and at the ready.
We are all little mysteries hidden in the dark.