By Eryn Murphy
My younger self once thought being the last to know your secret was a badge of honor. I wore it with silent pride, masking the agony of you choosing someone else.
As a prize for untangling your new web of lies, I find myself unwillingly part of another triangle I never knew existed, one more cleverly hidden than the last.
I may be the last to know again, but I realize she is not your secret.
“I write to preserve my emotions like a time capsule.” – the writer