Pieces for Gogol.

He never tells me he doesn't want to remember.
Every time i ask him about things and memories about our old house he simply tells me, "I'm sorry Nanay, I've forgotten them all." He said all his memories of the past burned along with the house. 

When he was five he told me he wants to marry me. 

That I was the prettiest lady he's ever seen. No one, not even his father has even gotten close to telling the same things. He imagined if he married me we could stay forever as family and the time would not move and we would just remain like we are. He a five year-old and us young parents who refuse to get out of rental housing. Then he turned seven and went to formal school, got bullied, bullied somebody, had troubles with teachers, academics, and realized that no amount of wishing can stop time from turning, and him from growing up, and that pretty soon he would have to move out like we always told him to.  

When he was still a toddler his father would often find him, upon waking up in the morning, silently staring out our bedroom window, like waiting for something or somebody. Like an old man waiting to find reasons for existing. 

It didn't worry me at first then when it started happening regularly, I began to worry but just a bit. he seemed to young to be already neurotic, or even to be just thinking too much. Though i wasn't really sure if it was thinking that he was doing, or if he was just waiting for his morning pee to come. 

That one time, just recently, he told us Jesus can be so cool with a long hair, he can even go to school with it or do anything he wants because he is the son of God. And how he gave us an "aha! i am so totally confused right now, mother" kind of smile when we told him, "what does it matter, you are the son of Keith!" because he couldn't make it to saying that his father is 'nothing' compared to God. 

So he just goes on and says, "ah, why you keep telling me things too weird?"

and declares he doesn't want to talk about it anymore.