Pain Perdu
What you want is a place to stash
stuff you’d rather forget, almost.
Stuff you won’t see again unless
you choose. A place for secrets — say,
explicit journals, nasty pics,
or my favourite: rewritten
history. We know you blab your
real history to pretty much
anyone if they’re too drunk to
remember. You say your secrets
are torn to bits, thrown in city
waste bins. Admit the truth. It's best
to start small: one room, one secret.
The name for this kind of place is
oubliette - a big deal in Goth
novels, a symbol of evil
or – we know you’ll like this - power.
You find one under medieval
castles. Control freaks use them to
persecute the vulnerable.
You’re not like that. Forget booby
traps, elaborate chambers. You
want only forgetfulness, the
relief of never having an
accusing finger wag in your
face, the option of lock and of
wondering where you put the key.
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