You won’t believe me.

I decided to write it down so you must listen, no interruptions or arguments. This is important. The secrets are hidden in everything I have ever written; poems, songs, stories, journals. You’ve read them. You’ve heard them. Deep down you must have known the truths encrypted within my work. I waited as patiently as possible for the moment when you understood, when you would consciously return and seek out the clues I purposefully left behind for you. I waited and waited, and doubt came creeping in to my confidence.

Perhaps I had been too subtle. Perhaps – no. I refuse to believe your perceptions are that limited. Regardless of why, I put my faith in you.

You probably think I am crazy, or that I’m playing you for a fool. I expect you to disregard my final attempt to ensure you discover the truth for yourself. You may be too late, and I will be gone, but for a trace of cinnamon and vanilla.

I know you won’t believe me, because I’ve told you before.

You’ve already forgotten.