I don’t know how to help you. I don’t know if anyone can help you with any of these problems you choose to have. As she speaks, she slowly approaches me. Maybe some things aren’t meant to be thought through and fought on your own. Progress should be slow, painful yet steady and not a jump into whatever future you have imagined yourself to have. And I don’t know what you are trying to convince yourself of, but it is clearly not working. Since you seem to only suffer more by your own anxious hand. I start to break down and cry as something in my chest crumbles. I feel so useless and dumb, I say as she strokes my hair. But you’re not. Things simply are more complicated than you thought they’d be. You’re trying to fight an unwinnable battle against change. Because it takes time, hundreds of years and you don’t have that, I don’t have that. I cling onto her tightly. That’s exactly the problem, I cry out.
Annoyed, she backs off and sits at the table. Listen, she says whilst scratching her head, you know I support you in everything you have and I love you for doing all this. But you are so much smarter than this and yet you struggle to figure out how to do what you love. Why? I stand up looking her into the eyes. Because I can’t. They are my dreams. They are not your dreams or anyone else’s but mine. What I want, you don’t like. What I love, they hate. What I need, they think it’s a pain in the ass to even think about. And I know this. But, at the same time, I don’t know what they want. And even if I knew, what difference would it make? Because I wouldn’t be able to give them what they want. That’s besides the fact that they don’t even know what they want. They barely know what they’ll eat tomorrow, who should they know what to do with their lives or even what to want or need? I am lost in this sea of uncertainty. She giggles. We all are. It’s we just call it life, you drama queen.
Not helpful, I interject as I pull the chair from under the table and sit down. I hate that we just gloss over all these things like they aren’t meant to be solved. I mean, why be decent? Why bother at all when we can’t do the basics? It’s like everyone’s trying to fly planes without taking the damn course to learn how to pilot. It’s absolutely ridiculous and it bothers me beyond belief. If we have a mutual responsibility towards each other… Because in the end it might not matter. Nor can you stop to consider literally everyone, she interrupts me. That’s not what I’m saying, I slam my hand on the table. There are things we all agreed are bad, right? Things that we won’t do because they’re objectively bad, right? So, then why can’t we just abide by the things we made that could make our lives easier? We’re the ones making the fucking rules, we’re the ones that should fucking follow the most basic of them all. Fuck! She gets up. I don’t think you’ll ever find a satisfactory answer to this. And leaves…
Hope you liked this chapter of the short story I Write Sins… I am so so very sorry it is late. But my laptop decided to die on me this weekend and I had a lot of catching up to do. And reinstalling things, which I’m still not done with. But should be back regularly starting this week. And if you want to help keep the short stories free, you can always donate at: https://www.paypal.me/RaulFO