but tell me, what’s better than a secret? not the kind that makes you feel like you’ve been eating small stones, bellyful of their weight sloshing around with your every movement and then someone says you look tired no, not that kind.

no i mean a secret like the yolk of an egg, who would suspect that underneath that smooth shell there was something golden, i want to kiss the one who came up with that but of course no one did. a secret as perfect as an egg itself with a little sun within it — it’s springtime and the yolk will still turn into something else maybe, and i want to know that one too.