We all sat drinking wine on the rooftop. It had been a lovely summer evening and now the slow cold started to creep up on us. We had had pizza, laughter and had had conversations of all sorts.
The things only free minded people would talk about. Dreams and relations and drugs. At one point the conversation hit the subject of parenthood, and our upbringing.
I sit silent, watching the last bit of my cigarette light up as I take a blow. I watch my two fellow companions explain the hardships they've been through, and how it affected them.
I don't feel like joining in. The way they speak of the truth upsets me. They have escaped their prisons, and are now free, whilst I am still stuck between these walls of suffering.
I still have to go home and notice the conversation dying out each time I enter the room.
I still have to endure the way she looks at me, the way a person would look at a dog that's been hit by a car. Not knowing what to do with it, struggling with the question whether to call the doctor or let it die.
The way she always looks at me, with prewritten laws and rules and a signed contract on who I am. I did not remember signing this contract, and I condemn the rules.
They nearly scream that I should do my own thing, I should yearn for more independence. I should grow. Yet each time I do so they also expect me to know once it's gone too far, once it is no good.
I don't know how to play by their rules anymore, and it hurts and upsets mee deeply each time I can't. I cannot leave. I cannot stay. In the house is just as bad as out of house.
So where do I go?
Where do I go to escape my prison?