You don’t know me. You might think you do, but you don’t.
You see, I work in the office next to you, go to your church, I serve on a team with you. Maybe I’ve been one of your friends for years.
You think you know me, but you don’t.
Sure we get together and hang out. We talk on the phone. I can twitter you or you can Google me. You can become my friend on Facebook, check out my MySpace page, read my blog, delete my annoying spam. I can text you, you can call me back.
But you don’t know me. When we get together we talk about movies, or kids, or friends, or recipes. Don’t you know that I only put my best pictures on my Facebook page? Those ones that show my gut stay on my computer.
I only twitter my best moments or bad moments that bring me sympathy. And if I don’t want to connect with you, I can always say my junk-mail filter blocked you, or my phone died.
You see, because you don’t know me. You only know what I want you to know.
I suppose you might know a little bit more about me if you read my bank statements, sift through my garbage, scan my browsing history, or read my journal. But I pay with cash, use the neighborhood dumpster, and delete my browsing history. My journal motto is: “If I die before I wake, throw my journal in the lake!”
Like I said…you don’t know me.
The only way you will really know me, is if I tell you. And, quite frankly, that seems pretty scary. My heart is a security box and the only key to open it is trust.
Can you be trusted? If so, you might know me.