I sometimes wonder who we are - Vincent and I.
He looks into the mirror and sees me. Passing by a plate glass shop window, I observe the reflection of Vincent, his dreamy eyes in a fixed stare with mine. I am steel and am not unnerved by what is clearly my brother's psychosis; as I do care about his state of mind (we are linked, and one another's mental health surely affects the course - for good or for ill - that either of us embark upon), however, it is essential that a measure of balance be struck and maintained in order that I might carry out my duties relative to his care.
Redirecting Vincent toward useful and healthy pursuits is my goal. Too much time is passed his staring into space, which inactivity creates a downward spiral into whose vortex my dear little man descends with no one the savior unless I reach out and snag him. He is docile but weak in mind due to what I consider irreversible trauma brought on by religious fanaticism and, of course, Father's necessary death.
I shall muster the forces of Hell, if necessary, to assist in my quest toward reunification with my other half. Requesting Heaven's help has never been a viable option ...