How many times have I climbed these stairs? How many times have I seen those pictures hanging there, showing all the achievements of her past? The fan that’s supposed to help dispel the interminable heat of her bedroom, never achieves its goal. The darkness of the room makes it even more sultry, with drapes always closed.
She hides in this room, this darkness. I believe she’ll never come out of it. It’s the depression, the uselessness she feels. She was an accomplished woman, and now all of that has disappeared. Her confidence gone. Her only memories are fading. That might be a good thing, maybe she could start over. She’s not even middle aged to give up so early. It’s a tragedy, but I’ve tried everything to help her. She refuses help. I can’t do it anymore.
This is my last walk up these stairs. I’m done. I can’t watch her going further into her midnight. I’m still young, younger than she. I can’t live like this any longer. This is the last time to climb into her darkness. I’m just going to say goodbye.