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The Secret
The lovers speak only in secrets. That is not because they have things to hide. Quite the opposite. They have too much to reveal. That is why they hush their voices, babble without end, laugh mindlessly. Meaningless words, secrets without anything secretive, commonplace phrases, innuendos, names, hopes for the future: everything, no matter its banality must be whisphered. The secret is the ecstacy of the lovers' overflowing turned back in towards its source. It is only embarassment that prevents them from yelling joyously. Rather than reveal this in their faces, their voices, they condense their happiness in whisphers.