If Freedom Can't Be Touched.

I read somewhere that, "Psychologists" say that keeping secrets healthy for the mental well being of ones self - that in managing information that is limited to sparse, yet 'important' people, you gain a sense of responsibility, a reason to exist.

So for the last week I've been trying to think of visage of a secret that I may have been a part of, but to no avail. Possibly because either I disallow myself to be endowed with such 'responsibility' and 'purpose', or I just really don't care about the share-alike terms of things people deem to be 'valuable information - ie: how incredibly fucking sexy Robert Patterson is'.

(Robert Patterson is Edward from Twilight)

There must be something wrong with me.

But upsides be told,

I don't even care.