Yes. It's something about my face ... & perhaps my demeanor as well, that prompts people to spill their souls out to me. From their favorite color to the filthiest skeletons in their closets.
Being a confidante is both humbling and flattering. But ... a Pensieve to hold the secrets of the world, I certainly am not. At times I feel as if my head is Pandora's Box itself, (minus the fact that this mythical artifact is one which all of humanity covets) brimming over with all the confessions of friends and acquaintances past and current, coiled around one another in the grime within my skull. The oozing pores of their tentacles gripping firmly onto the surface of my brain... the pressure, unbearable at times.
Should I choose to open my "Box", even to a sliver... chaos, pestilence & plague shall spill forth from it and the world around me & all that is within the space of that vicinity shall be plunged into pandemonium & destruction.
Much like Pandora's Box, itself, really.
It is a tremendous amount of responsibility people entrust upon me when they show me their inner demons & share all the grievances & guilt that haunt them. Tremendous. Keeping these secrets to myself when I know what the consequences of my silence are, is at times unbearable.
But betraying confidences, especially that of a true friend or a loved one, is the height of deception. The few occasions on which I disclosed certain information to aid someone have resulted in severed ties. One, I regret... the other, never have and never will. And so I keep the evils within me now... and I rot inside.
Something about my face, really... unassuming, innocent, trustworthy ... I suppose. A blessing & a curse.
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