your voice was the soundtrack of my summer

"Well, I don't tell you everything"
"...What?! You don't tell me everything?"

Those could have been throw-a-way lines in the screenplay that is our life. They could have been something I said just to screw with your continual need to know everything I do and everyone I know, everything I think and everything I am. (This sounds derisive, but it isn't--your need to know everything makes me feel loved).

They could have been.

But they weren't. They aren't. I can't get them out of my head.

They're stuck there, on replay.

I don't tell you everything, because I can't tell you everything. And I know you're going to want to ask questions- but don't. Isn't it time we both learned to leave well enough alone?

And besides, everyone's entitled to their secrets.