Scellée. Quoi que vous ayez écrit, cela vous attend.
5,887 secrets dans la nuit en ce moment
Les secrets montent
dans la nuit
Attrapez dans l’obscurité le secret d’un inconnu et lisez-le. Allumez une bougie s’il vous reste en tête. Écrivez le vôtre quand vous serez prêt — anonymement, sans compte, sans nom, sans profil.
Ce soir, quelque part
Quelqu’un l’a déjà écrit
Chaque secret ici a été écrit par quelqu’un qui n’avait nulle part ailleurs où le poser. Aucun nom, aucun profil, aucun compte n’y est attaché. Lisez-en un, allumez une bougie pour lui, puis laissez-le partir.
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 inconnu, quelque part
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 inconnu, quelque part
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 inconnu, quelque part
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 inconnu, quelque part
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 inconnu, quelque part
Quatre façons de recevoir
Attrapez un secret comme la nuit l’entend
Un secret ne devrait pas arriver comme une notification. Choisissez le rituel qui convient à l’heure.
La lanterne
Attrapez un secret qui s’élève dans le noir.
La bouteille
Repêchez-en un dans la mer de minuit.
La luciole
Recueillez un secret lumineux au creux des mains.
La boîte aux lettres
Ouvrez la seule porte qui brille.
Collections
Commencez par ce que vous reconnaissez
Quelques centaines de secrets, classés par sujet. Les autres restent dans la nuit, où on les échange. (Les secrets restent dans leur anglais d’origine.)
Comment ça marche
Donner un pour en recevoir un
1
Lisez ce que la nuit vous offre
Chaque nuit commence avec deux lectures gratuites. Utilisez-les comme vous voulez.
2
Confiez le vôtre
Quand elles sont épuisées, écrivez un secret. Il s’envole anonymement, et la nuit vous offre deux lectures de plus.
3
Allumez une bougie
Si le secret d’un inconnu vous reste en tête, allumez-lui une bougie. Il saura que quelqu’un l’a recueilli.
Celle que vous gardez
Écrivez à la personne que vous serez
Tout le reste ici est écrit pour des inconnus. Une lettre à votre futur vous, c’est l’inverse : scellée jusqu’à la date que vous choisissez, impossible à réécrire d’ici là, et lue par personne d’autre que vous.
La plupart des gens scellent ce qu’ils repoussent depuis longtemps — de se dire à eux-mêmes.
Tu étais tellement sûr que ça t’aurait détruit à l’heure qu’il est. Ce n’est pas arrivé. Va dire à quelqu’un ce que tu ne dis toujours pas.
Quelques-uns, à découvert
Ce que les gens écrivent vraiment
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.
une confession · anonymeMy 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.
un poids · anonymeWe 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.
une confession · anonymeWe 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.
une confession · anonymeMy 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.
une petite lumière · anonymeA 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.
un poids · anonymeTout commence par le vôtre
Pas de compte, pas d’inscription, et rien de ce que vous écrivez ne porte votre nom. Déposez la seule chose que vous n’avez jamais dite, et lisez ce qui revient.
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