public, private, secret

On display. A bouquet of flowers, a painting, an artifact—my public life is on display for all to see, for all to look at. I spend my time with friends, with acquaintances, with strangers, and they are all part of my public life. My public persona, the person you see sitting across from you on the train, she is my public life, she lives my public life. My public life is a masquerade, a masked ball, and I've worked so hard to make my mask beautiful, to make my mask lovable and likable and tolerable.

Selectively hidden. Sheltered behind a barricade, treasured inside a home; my private life is selective and hidden from the outside world. Family, close friends, my dearest loved ones—these are the players in the game of my private life. I let them in, let them one layer closer. With them, my mask comes off, my hair comes down, I trade my heels for comfortable slippers. They can see a side of me that I dare not reveal in public. They can see past the facade, past the masquerade of put-togetherness and anxious politeness. My hobbies, my likes, my dislikes—these are also parts of my private life. My private life is a more faithful representation of who I truly am. My private life is what I do when no one's looking, my private life is dancing alone in the kitchen at 2am.

Locked away. There are secrets about my life that even I don't know; things locked away and long forgotten. Inside my heart, I keep a chest of all the memories that I dare not recollect. Much like a dusty box in the family attic, I will not open this chest until I am old enough for these secrets to not matter so much. Even then, some items will remain hidden, tucked away, wrapped in velvet cloth and padded with shredded newspaper. My secret life is mine alone. There are things I've done that no one can ever know. There are thoughts I've thought that no one will ever find out about. There are ideas I've had that will live forever in shadow and secrecy.