End of the week

Friday. What does it matter ? At home nothing is different to any other day. It’s only outside that things go on. People get excited at the thought of staying later in the pub, of browsing through the shopping centres, of going for a walk with the family… At home it’s inside that things happen. Inside Mum’s silence, inside her look that goes right to her soul. She chose. Silence. Solitude.I know that she chose that cruel life, that her muteness is nothing but a screen onto which each person projects his or her pity and compassion. She doesn’t suffer from suffering, she doesn’t suffer any more at all. She has walked a longer path than me, a longer path than those outside.As for me, I suffer still, over and above sublimation. Despite sublimation.