I can't understand, try as I might.
You raised me.
You talk big game about faith, but
don't you have faith in yourself?
Where is the confidence in the product of your life? That is what I am.
What have I done to prove myself unworthy?
You're worried about embarassment?
I kept my mistakes to myself, and out of the public eye.
You're worried about my safety?
I've never broken a bone in my life.
You're worried about my purity?
I'm pure. You aren't. I'm proof.
You're worried about the others who threaten my safety?
I've kept out of their reach for seventeen years. What's an afternoon?
Leave me to my own devices.
Spare me your maternal nonsense.
It's gotten you no where, and it never will.
You have no life.
You'd rather see me at home, alone- like you- so someone can share in your misery as opposed to giving me the liberation you never had. You are the root cause of neverending cycles. You function on impulse and won't think anything through because if you did, you might come across something that you didn't want to find. Maybe recognition of your pure, unparalleled resentment? Just a guess.