When I was younger I hitchhiked from Montana to Nebraska. I felt that way when I was standing on the on ramp to the countries artery waiting for some vehicle to stop. I had a vague plan for Nebraska, but beyond getting there everything was a blank.
Everything in my life has always felt temporary. Now I’m in prison and this one and a half inch thick mattress feels temporary. I hate that I cannot envision life beyond this place anymore.
I have forgotten certain things and hugging feels criminal. When I hug my mother I have to count the seconds in my head before I know I must separate, something I never want to do.
I know I crave more visitors. More interaction with people who haven’t decided hugs are criminal offenses and that resting my head on a dear friends shoulder is okay still. I want to go home. Where is that? More importantly, what is that?
I do know one thing, I cannot wait to figure it out again. I’m terrified and excited all at once. Waiting to rediscover myself as a free person…I know what I will do with my freedom.