I like being able to smile.
Doesn't matter if it’s a sad grimace, yearning to feign the appearance happiness, or the tug at the corner of my lips when I delve myself into a bright, shadowy secret.
I like being able to smile at a different story and life, so different from my own that I can’t help but smile, and so much like me like they are me that I can’t not smile.
I've kept silent secrets behind this vulpine grin, leonine moments of murine importance, locked and vowed to silence with the twitch of my cheek.
I've read the secrets of green worlds of wonder and violet planets of violent words.
I hold them around me like whispers and sighs and shadows only I can see and feel and comprehend, voices through the trees and thoughts through the pages, looking to keep their monstrous secrets with me.