Shh, Don't Say a Thing

Her voice was still low, she was quiet, she was about to tell a secret. The silence was daunting, but somehow relaxing. It reminded her that her secret might me kept, and it might not be heard by the world. The room was dim, there were no windows, and just the one door through which she entered. The room was small, it had a round table and some chairs placed around it. There were also a chair in two corners of the room. She sat opposite of the door, at the table. The table was empty, it was unstable, and so was the chair that she sat on. It was hard to stay balanced, she thought she'll fall any moment now. But there she was, hanging in there.
She could hear a weak melody playing somewhere far away. There was no way of determining whether it was played live, or if it was a record playing. She could't even tell the genre of the song, or what instruments had created the piece, but she could hear it, and she knew it was there.

She felt like a rag-doll, worn-out, tired, over-used, and very confused. She was not sure what she was doing in this small room. But deep down she knew, she knew she was here about the secret, she wanted to share her secret. She gulped a huge junk of air, a boulder was still there, stuck in her throat, as if pulling her back from what she was about to do. But despite all, she had to, she needed the weight somehow lifted of off her, at least some part of it.

She then did it, she silently said the words that were burning her mind and her soul. She put them out there, and it felt as if she struck herself with a dagger. Tears stared to poor down her face as if blood was pooling under a never-healing wound. She felt so much pain that it could not be measured in any form, it was passed any scale, it was passed any weight measure, the pressure was squeezing every drop of life she still had in her. She had said those few words that she was meaning to tell someone.

Her eyes gently scanned the room. Through her never-ending river of tears she tried to see what had changed, what had happened.

But there she was
all alone in a small room
sitting on a broken chair
at an old, round table.

Secrets are no longer secrets if shared.

The girls heart is wounded, and she will never be able to fix it.
She picked herself up, in the pace of the fading melody she moved her body across the room to the door, then she left the room.

And it was as if she had never been there.