Author's Note: After much fighting with Html, a language I do not speak well, this is the result. My apoligies for the poor format. It looked quite nice in Microsoft Word...
Some things you can only tell strangers.
Secrets. Painful memories. Things you could tell no one around you.
Not for lack of trust, of course.
Simply because you will have to face them daily, knowing that they know things so deeply private and personal about you.
She shared her past with me…
for more than one reason…
She allowed herself to vocalize her past, her pain, because she desired to share it with someone.
She had convinced herself - rather logically, I admit - that she would never see me again, leaving her confession to die with me in a cold, lonely cell.
Safe.
Nothing to fear.
Rather selfish, isn't it?
She tried to write her story telling off, of course, as a necessary tool through which she would save a lamb.