when i was in juvie, i remember smothering my face into the letters i received from my family and friends. it was a sensual escape, my sense of smell had the chance to be free from the confines of my small, dimly lit room to brighter, happier pastures. every letter held a different scent, every scent led to a different sensation, every whiff sent me to a better place.
ely's letters always seemed like a bouquet being unleashed upon me when the guard would bring them by. to think about it now, every letter smelt sweet and welcoming, hinting at what awaits for me outside these walls. it was the height of my days and nights, awaiting the arrival of a new letter, accompanying with it tales of a world where freedom is alongside you with each and every fleeting moment, every new letter let me in a bit of that, even if the environment wasn't conducive for anything more than the cold, long arm of the law, offering no solace for souls who cried for more.
as i've been fortunate in life, my secret pleasure was lost upon many in that place, not knowing what it was i felt because they had no one to do the same for them. their only comfort came when they were able to close their eyes and let it slip away, but as soon as a new day arose, the misery takes to its post to ensure that it would be another day in the grind. those guys were truly alone, with no one but themselves to console them.
since i got out, i always made it a point to liven up whatever space it was i slept in. it doesn't serve as a reminder, i wish it did, but it helps ease me into a comfortable place, a place i don't mind calling my own.
