Sellada. Lo que hayas escrito te está esperando.
5,887 secretos en la noche ahora mismo
Los secretos suben
hacia la noche
Atrapa en la oscuridad el secreto de un desconocido y léelo. Enciende una vela si se queda contigo. Escribe el tuyo cuando estés listo — de forma anónima, sin cuenta, sin nombre y sin perfil.
Esta noche, en algún lugar
Alguien ya lo ha escrito
Cada secreto aquí lo escribió alguien que no tenía otro lugar donde dejarlo. No lleva nombre, perfil ni cuenta. Lee uno, enciéndele una vela y déjalo ir.
My wife thinks I quit smoking in 2011. I did, in the house, in the car, everywhere she might smell it. But once a month I drive to a lookout an hour away, smoke exactly one cigarette, and watch the lights come on across the valley. It isn't the nicotine. It's the fifteen minutes of being a man accountable to no one, the last small room where I answer to nobody, and then I drive home and am hers again.— un desconocido, en algún lugar
Widowed is what my grandmother called herself for sixty years. Abandoned is what she was. In 1953 she paid for a headstone with no body under it so her children could visit a grave instead of a question. I found the receipt. I still rake the leaves off his empty grave every October, because she wanted it kept.— un desconocido, en algún lugar
The man who fired me in 1994, who made a whole meeting laugh at my expense, sends me a Christmas card every year now. Retired, lonely, forgetting things. I could ignore it. Instead I send one back with a photo of my garden. He has no idea I lay awake for years plotting elegant revenges I never had the nerve for. It turns out the revenge was outliving my hatred of him. I signed this year's card, warmly.— un desconocido, en algún lugar
Four months after Dad died, the funeral home told me about a second urn, prepaid, standing instructions, his name on the account for forty years. His brother. Dead in 1977, kept in a closet because their mother wouldn't have him in the family plot. I buried them together at dawn with the groundskeeper's help. The plot holds two now. Only the grass and I know.— un desconocido, en algún lugar
Almost is a place. We were almost in 1979, again in 1994, and once more, dangerously, in 2011. Some couples get a song. We got a schedule of near misses. Lately I catch myself doing the math on the next one. My door sticks. I have oiled it.— un desconocido, en algún lugar
Cuatro formas de recibir
Atrapa un secreto como la noche quiere
Un secreto no debería llegar como una notificación. Elige el ritual que vaya con la hora.
El farolillo
Atrapa un secreto que sube entre la oscuridad.
La botella
Saca uno del mar de medianoche.
La luciérnaga
Recoge un secreto luminoso entre tus manos.
El buzón
Abre la única puerta que brilla.
Colecciones
Empieza por lo que reconoces
Unos cientos de secretos, ordenados por aquello de lo que tratan. El resto se queda en la noche, donde se intercambian. (Los secretos se muestran en su inglés original.)
Cómo funciona
Da uno para recibir uno
1
Lee lo que la noche te ofrece
Cada noche empieza con dos lecturas gratis. Úsalas como quieras.
2
Suelta uno tuyo
Cuando se acaben, escribe un secreto. Vuela de forma anónima y la noche te da dos lecturas más.
3
Enciende una vela
Si el secreto de un desconocido se queda contigo, enciéndele una vela. Sabrá que alguien lo sostuvo.
La que te quedas
Escribe a la persona que serás
Todo lo demás aquí se escribe para desconocidos. Una carta a tu yo futuro es lo contrario: sellada hasta la fecha que elijas, imposible de reescribir mientras tanto, y leída por nadie más que tú.
Casi todos sellan aquello que llevan tiempo aplazando decirse — a sí mismos.
Estabas tan seguro de que esto ya te habría hundido. No pasó. Ve y dile a alguien eso que todavía no estás diciendo.
Algunos, a la vista
Lo que la gente escribe de verdad
Both families disapproved, so we eloped — different everything, the kind of match people bet against. Forty years later, at his father's deathbed, the old man who'd refused to attend our wedding gripped my hand and said 'you were right, I was wrong, thank you for loving my son.' I never told my husband his father said it. He died believing his dad never came around. But I know. And on our anniversary I toast a man who hated me and lived long enough to be grateful, and I toast him alone, and I keep the peace.
una confesión · anónimoMy wife's ex sends flowers to her mother every Mother's Day, still, and her mother loves it, and I've decided you can be outmaneuvered by a man who understood which relationship actually mattered.
una carga · anónimoWe were high school sweethearts who married and divorced and I remarried and she didn't, and my second wife is wonderful and I love her truly, and last month my first wife was hospitalized and I sat by her bed for a week and my second wife let me, understood, and I held the hand of the girl I married at nineteen while she slept, and I've decided the human heart is a house with more rooms than we're told, and that loving my second wife and loving the memory of my first are not a betrayal but a floor plan, and that I'm lucky, unbearably lucky, to have loved two women that much in one short life.
una confesión · anónimoWe met at a hospice where both our fathers were dying, in a hallway at 3am, and fell in love over vending machine coffee amid so much death, and people think it's morbid and it's the opposite, we found the most life either of us had ever felt in the place where life was ending, and I've never known how to explain that grief and love came through the exact same door.
una confesión · anónimoMy addiction cost me the years my kids were small, and I can't get those back, no amount of sobriety un-erases a childhood a father slept through. But my daughter had a baby this spring and asked me — me — to be the one there in the daytime while she works. I hold my granddaughter every afternoon in the exact chair I was too drunk to hold her mother in. I know it's a second chance I did nothing to deserve. I've decided the only honest response to undeserved grace is to show up, sober, every single day, and I do.
una pequeña luz · anónimoA nurse held my hand while they told me and then her shift ended and she was gone, and I never got her name, and I've donated to that hospital every year in honor of 'the nurse who stayed,' and they've stopped asking me to be specific, and she'll never know she's a line in my will.
una carga · anónimoEmpieza con el tuyo
Sin cuenta, sin registro, y nada de lo que escribas lleva tu nombre. Deja eso que nunca has dicho y lee lo que vuelve.
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