Confessions of a Thief

I steal all the time.
Things like fears and
Worries and
Sadness and
Contempt and
Longing and
Loneliness ...
When I can, from others.

You'd be surprised how tightly people hold onto them, though. Not everyone keeps their belongings in the loose stitchings of their pockets. Some of them clutch them tight.

Alas ... thieving is an art.

It's a matter of sleight of hand, you see, except with anything necessary to create the distraction. A few words, a smile, laugh, compliment, and so forth. And poof ... They don't know it's missing. 

I love stealing. We are all thieves. Some of us better than others. Some of us more selective with what, and who, we steal from.

If it's something easier to steal, you will both feel lighter after you snatch it away from them. Surreptitiously, it will vanish from their possession, then all you have to do is let it go, too. 

But those are the lighter objects which we steal ...

The slyest, most skilled thieves are the ones who can learn to carry the heaviest of burdens without the other noticing. They'll slide it out from between their clutching fingertips, slip it away into their own sleeve, and carry around that burden for them. It will be more difficult to let go. But if they're truly greedy for it, they won't mind. They'll do it because they simply love it. They want to steal from you.

Watch out for those thieves.

They are the most dangerous, and most subtle, of all.