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He keeps the keys.
This is the part that's really sad to me right here. The empty house is tragic and telling, of course. The idea that this isn't home, and can't be home is its own flavor of pain. And obviously there's the blatant lie that this is everything he needs, even if he doesn't recognize it as such.
But that crate of keys...
It's been seen that oftentimes people need a reminder of their pain. Something they can hold with their hands and see with their eyes, more tangible than the scars on their soul. Oftentimes, these reminders become chains, visual cues that they're not allowed to want or grow or be happy. A box of penance that only grows with time.
How many chains does he carry now, I wonder? Is every key he breaks its own separate chain upon his shoulders? Or just another link in one long, unbroken chain around his neck?
This is the part that's really sad to me right here. The empty house is tragic and telling, of course. The idea that this isn't home, and can't be home is its own flavor of pain. And obviously there's the blatant lie that this is everything he needs, even if he doesn't recognize it as such.
But that crate of keys...
It's been seen that oftentimes people need a reminder of their pain. Something they can hold with their hands and see with their eyes, more tangible than the scars on their soul. Oftentimes, these reminders become chains, visual cues that they're not allowed to want or grow or be happy. A box of penance that only grows with time.
How many chains does he carry now, I wonder? Is every key he breaks its own separate chain upon his shoulders? Or just another link in one long, unbroken chain around his neck?
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