Why I never tell my secrets

Secrets.
So easy to tell someone else's secrets.
They say not to breathe a word
You swear you won't
But what does the promise mean to you?
Proving you're trustworthy.
Hearing something interesting.
Feeling elite.
But I know if another urge strikes you
and it feels more important
You'll tell.
You want to appear informed to someone else
Don't think it would matter if you told this person.
You'd think they won't care or trust they wouldn't tell.
But it does matter.
The person behind the secret matters less and less to every pair of ears.
It stops being a secret.
Becomes idle banter.
Common knowledge.
But what if it was your secret?
It's different, then.
It's so hard to tell your own secrets
When you finally work yourself up to tell a single person
Get the strength to unburden your shoulders from the dark leech that's latched onto your side,
Unyielding,
Draining,
Stressful,
Contagious,
Poisonous,
And you divulge to a single person.
A single individual you are confident will never, would never whisper a word of it.
It troubles them.
They talk it over with someone else, who they think they can trust.
And it gets out. Your secret in everyone's ears, coating their thoughts like the poison on Snow White's apple...
The knowledge of it engraved in everyone's eyes
Perfectly visible to you as you simply walk, looking into those clear pools down to the bottom, where your secret is etched in bloody, bold letters just for you to see.
They don't even try to hide that they know.
Your shame colors your face, a flashy cape visible as the stars on a cloudless country night.
Your eyes once again greet your toes, an old friendship.
And it starts again.