"Mom? I'm back home."
Things change. No longer am I alone, no longer am I depressed, no longer will I stay down. But there's something wrong here. My goal is to change. Change what, I don't care, I don't know. For all of us to be free, perhaps. Free from what, though? We all are free, in our own ways: I have my freedom of thought. She doesn't. She's chained to her ways, that old pillar of stone, given chances, but staying to what's old.
The oak door to her, the sheer routine of it all, it sickens me to the core. Routine is routine, life is life, we can't change anything in our lives until we actually get out of it. Separate yourself from your life in order to do something with it. Give up yourself.
"You're there, Jonathan? Ready once again to drag me into your world?"
I let out an inaudible sigh. It's irrational, I know, but every one of us does something to calm us down in these times.
"Our lives are not our own. We aren't meant to be like the way you are: for yourself, living for nothing."
"Life, life, life, Jonathan. Is there really something worth living for?"
"The world, maybe? The many people out there waiting for a shot to do something?"
"The world isn't worth anything."
I'm shocked by her callousness. She doesn't care. She's numb to everything, probably due to my father, but it can't be for this long, can it? No one can hate for long: it kills you, eats your soul through and through, and then nothing is left.
"What did he do to you to make you hate him this much?"
She turns away from me.
"You're so wrong, Jonathan. As wrong as Black was when she gave up on the world. As wrong as he was when he gave up on me. You never saw, did you?"
"It's not him I'm concerned about."
"Then what are you concerned about?"
She smirked. She knows much more than I know. Everyone I meet knows something more than I do, or at least they think they do. In the case of Mother, it's definitely the latter. The great paradox is that she thinks she knows, but the thought restricts her in itself. Thoughts are powerful.
"Jonathan, haven't you realised anything in your life? That maybe, for some time, that something's been changing you?"
"You've never been religious. What's with the religion now?"
"Religion? Religion. The study of faith. If anything, you're a whole lot faithful than I am."
"Faith? What makes you think that I hold even the slightest touch of trust for anyone?"
"You trust so much. Much more than you know, or I know."
"Trust is for the weak."
"You trust her, don't you? After just a brief touch with you?"
"A brief touch? She cares about me more than you ever have. What have you done for me, anyway?"
"More than what she's done for you. I did not leave you."
"You left me a long time ago."
Why is it that everyone I meet knows something more than I do? Everyone knows everything, I'm the one with nothing. Nothing but myself and who I am. In the end, that matters most, even above everyone else. That you keep yourself, because if the blind leads the blind, all shall end to the pit of darkness, and that will be of no use to anyone. If you've never despaired, you wouldn't know: it eats you, the darkness, seeps into your soul, taking away everything.
And it seems like she's trying to pin me to it. The darkness isn't mine. I have no part in the darkness.
"Leave you. Don't you think so? Let me say this, so that we're both free. You know, and I know, that he's not right, and will never be. And you also know that she hasn't done anything for you, at all. Just kissed up to you for her own ends, no matter what. Everyone's like that, Jonathan. Manipulating for their own ends. Albert, Catherine, Jonathan. All three alike."
She looked towards the window, more silent than ever. This is madness, the true rambling of the dark soul. Is she doing this to defend herself? I don't know, I can't say, but from the way she's staring, the sunset knows. If only it could tell me.
If only the sunset could tell me why she's always right.