Don’t tell me your secrets. I can’t keep them safe.
I might leave them rolling loose on windowsills to be picked up by the breeze coming in across the back yard, and that’ll carry them up. They’ll be the grey in the sky, until they latch onto gales and head further out where they’ll be dropped in the oceans. Bobbing on white water waves. Slowly making their way to shore, where they’ll be deposited on sandy beaches.
Where anyone spending an afternoon could find them and pick them up and hold them to their ears and learn everything about you.
Prompt courtesy of Jane Dougherty’s Microfiction Challenge.