ALONE | where our hearts sink into the earth.
― I don't want to be alone anymore.
The world had not been kind to us, the boy and the girl, and the souls within.
Made to suffer, minds that were created for this world, they do not sink; they swim.
but...
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TESS
I could not remember the last time my feet had set foot on the ground beyond the fences. The world beyond, the one that had stripped everything from me, seemed long gone for now; I knew that was too good to be true. Strange, the days and how they blended together over and over on top of one another, all until I could not tell when I arrived and when I would leave. I prayed I never left.
Weeks had slipped through my fingers without much thought or care put into the pace. So many days had fallen past me, so many hours spent, that I had lost count at just how many existed. Some days were slow in their way of working, edging on so weakly, I prayed for rest at the end of the day. Other days held the speed of wind, zipping past my touch, even when I wished for those days to stay a while longer. Every day given was enough, more than what I felt I deserved to hold in the palm of my hand. I was learning to accept the good times that came my way.
My cell was a favorite of my heart, a cozy space accompanied in the moment. A stone cold slab of gray that had made its way into a real room in the matter of weeks, I drank in the softness it had come to offer me, no matter the rough tongue the walls talked in. In the nearly month I'd found myself along prison ground, I'd turned the cell into a personal sanctuary, a gentle roof to place all of my worries under at the end of the day.
A bed to rest my bones along, walls to taste my thoughts, room for my growing collection of belongings, the tiny cell was everything I would ever want or need. It had changed tremendously in the passing weeks, going from a gray slab I returned to for slumber each night to a room I could truly spend time in. With the help of Beth Greene and the run crew, I had been gifted enough pieces to turn the cell into a real room.
There were many things that found a way into my cell over the weeks. Clothing and shower products had been tossed together by a group of women in the prison, the basket of personal hygiene and care essential given gratefully. Posters and dust collectors found a way through my door by the hands of Beth, helpful in giving the room a personal taste. A handful of rock CDs ended up in my care, along with a small player to listen to the music. After all, the boy and I had discovered over the weeks that we shared the same taste in artists.
Lots of little things I didn't have any use for found their way to me, and I wasn't one to complain. Newspaper posters covered the drab walls, handfuls of hooks and stickers to hold things up. I had accepted it all with open arms. For once in many years, a part of me began to feel a bit more full. Whether it was the longing to own things again, to have a place for all of it to exist easily, or perhaps it was the simple act of being wanted and understanding how it felt to want others, too. I would never know which one ached more strongly in my mind
Above all, there were two things I couldn't seem to escape from within my cell, no matter the day lined up, two things I didn't really want an escape from; their names were Patrick and Carl. Like most days, the early morning hours were dedicated to comic books and novels, a time given for Carl and Patrick to swap comics, for Carl to introduce me to new series, and for myself to introduce the boys to my beloved paperbacks; Trevor's paperbacks.
