Strange how I can remember your hunched form decisively alone and stubborn, hovering above your glass of Burgundy. Back then you were the same: a ghost howling in silence, pushing back the rage and guilt, convinced of your superiority. You couldn't keep your mouth shut, ranting and raving. Six years old and tired, I listened, but you never believed I was. I saw then the decrepit woman who was to me the face of human fragility and could not in my youth offer one ounce of empathy. It's sad how you struggled against self-imposed chains; yeah, you definitely thought you were Houdini. Thought you didn't need to unlock your chains, so determined and hopeless in your insanity, vindictive and willing to share. Couldn't give what you could not return- you didn't let me. So I watched your struggle, endured your vengeance passively Because each act against me in your rage inflicted more guilt and sorrow to your mountain of empty regrets. I watched you become empty. You loved to struggle, but didn't believe you could win. I still have the table, and your chair. An empty silhouette of you drinking in silence is what remains... Thank you for showing me the traps of the mind-- I can give you only this: I am to this day quiet, passive, watchful, forgiving, and unfaltering; not once have I fallen. For you, I will never surrender. Unchained is me; unyielding is my resolve. I kept your chair to remind me that no bars at all is the cruelest prison for the human mind.