and i don't know what it is about me, but i know a lot of people's junk. i mean their inner-most, darkest secret. the one their husband doesn't even know. the one their co-workers would never suspect. the thing that haunts them, reminding them how human they are, how breakable and sinful and imperfect.
this junk is heavy stuff. and i know it all. and here's the thing, these people, the ones who trusted me with their junk and baggage and dirty footprints, well, they don't call me "friend" anymore. interesting, right? i mean, at one point, they're telling me things that i'd only seen on lifetime television for women and then a few years later, when i start to have some junk of my own, they disappear. just. like. that.
and while i can't sit next to them or laugh with them or go shopping or to dinner or watch a movie or anything like that, i still know their junk.
and honestly, i don't know how someone can confide so many things in one person, trust them explicitly with details on the state of their marriage, their addictions, their past lovers -- their box full of junk, and then just cut all ties. you know? how could i have hurt them that much?
and when i did hurt them...even indirectly...did i just add to their pile of junk? or was it that they had too much junk that they could not bare to add one more piece?