I'm full.

You know, I'm FULL. Bloated infact. Bursting at the seems. Crammed. Ladened, packed and jammed FULL. Brimming. I am completely FULL. Almost to the point of being consumed, by my own.. FULLness.

I'm FULL of lots of things. Emotions, Memories and Blood mainly. Oh, and Water. Lots and Lots of Water. Water that swells through the pores into beads on my forehead. Water that squeezes itself through the corners of my eyes and catches itself on my lashes. Water hammering into my skull and dampening my hair at the turn of a tap. Water soaking the hands until they wrinkle and soften. Water barraging the barricade, breaking through the walls of my jeans and trickling slowly down to pool in the bottom of my shoes.
Water usually gets rid of a lot of things. Dirt for one. With the assistance of soap, you might be able to make markings dissapear, like pen or texta. Permanent texta is not so easy, but with persistance, it comes off and you are clean again. But, with the bodies need for water, it's survival dependant on your levels of hydration, as well as the need for you to be clean (again, water gains YAHTZEE), all this water that I have does not seem to be doing its job.

Water is supposed to make everything fresh. It gets rid of the markings, and cleans you from the outside in. Removes the dirt from underneath your fingernails. But I don't suppose they've come up for a way that water can clean the consciousness of a person. That'd be a little extreme for modern day scientists. Unless they have and they've kept it a secret. They always keep the most useful things a secret.

But I guess secrets are necessary. Living without secrets is not common these days. I'm not sure that I know someone without secrets. I know I have secrets. There are secrets in my writing, and there are secrets in yours. There are secrets in your mind as you read what I type. You might tell them to someone one day, or you might not. That's entirely up to you.

The one thing I know about my secrets is:
I'm FULL of them.