I’ve got a secret

Everyone’s got secrets. It seems like I have most everyone’s secrets buried deep within.

And they’re never coming out.

I take pride in knowing people trust me with their secrets. I’m guessing I possess two qualities that make me “the vault.”

First, I’m not prone to gossip or blab. That may seem like an obvious requirement, but we all know someone who can’t keep a secret no matter what, as if they’ll burst at any moment if they can’t pass along confidential information.

Second, I have a high tolerance for the horrid. As long as it’s not illegal or harming someone I know personally, I can stomach it.

(And yes, if it’s illegal, I tattle. So if you buried a body somewhere, don’t tell me.)

Information may be power, but I don’t feel powerful. It’s not a chance to lord it over someone, though it is tempting. Nor is it a potential blackmail situation.

If you’re lucky, I won’t even sit in judgment of you. The last thing your guilty conscience needs is another “I told you so.”

Maybe you feel the need for absolution, for relief from guilt, for a reassuring “There, there.” I don’t care, not really.

You talk, I listen. You spill, I absorb. You ask for confidentiality, I give it.

At least I’ll have something to take with me to the grave.