And, I know of a love that has remained throughout my life a secret. I have attempted to 

share it on numerous occasions, to no avail. This love has remained my secret. This love that 

is felt cannot be shared with anyone, not even one who is the object of this love; especially 

not with her. This love cannot be expressed by words or in thoughts. To speak it is to 

 diminish it. The feeling is mine alone. A secret. It remains. So, the most beautiful of 

experiences draws me inside, not out. Into a void I once tried to avoid. Love draws me. 

Draws me. This way, alone, I am who I am. 

I,  a sketch drawn by love itself.