Mother said that she doesn’t believe I will kill myself. And she is right; I won’t.
Mother despises me since the first day of my preschool. I was always the kid that’s a little bit slower and behind. I’ve never like myself in her perception.
If I committed suicide, mother will despise the fact that I was too cowered to face life directly. But the irony is that the only reason she thinks I won’t end myself is because I am too cowered to face death directly.
He likes to tell stories in third person. Somehow it makes him feel less lonely - as if there are people out there who he actually trusts and cares for. Writing in third person creates this barrier that separates his own identity from his works, he becomes an observer, to him it’s an escape of his reality without being too selfish.
It’s not so much a world he’d left behind him. It was very settled the night before their departure. And he had this feeling - so strong - that he knew there might be a chance of them not coming back here alive. Oddly everyone was celebrating - they got their war.
He had never thought of himself being too young to promise her anything, so he moved, to the city where their existence only exist in between. He said he will love her till the day she finally doesn’t love him anymore. She thought that was quite an honest vow, and so she didn’t expect too much from him but his love.