i see your story

I know what it's like to hide.  
I know what it's like to keep things quiet, safe, and still. 
I know what it's like to not say the thing I want to say.

I know that fear.
That raw, aching possibility that things are not okay.

The fear you'll think I'm weird.
The fear you'll think I'm crazy.
The fear you won't love me the way I think you do now.

I learned to be quiet because it was easier.
Well, it used to be easier.

Now, the stories come rolling out.  
Insistent.  So insistent.
The words fly from my mouth before I can tame them or  temper them.
Before I can dress them in prettier phrases.

(And why would I?)

I can see your story too.
I can see how you dance around its corners.
You show me the patterns, its shape, and how it fits on you.
You show me the way it should look to others.
You show me the reflection of others.
You show me just enough.

But it's not everything.

Come out.
Let it out.
Tell me everything.