Chapter Text
It has been little under one and a half years, for all of this time the medical personnel has tried to get me to write letters – to loved ones, to hated ones, to myself and to no one at all. Every time I refused, afraid that once I started to write down what I thought and felt, I could never go back again to not writing about it. I was afraid that they would take away my pen and paper, or maybe even read the words I write, but nothing ever happened to the paper or the pens.
I have decided to start writing now, after weeks of only reading, because at some point even the most loved words lose their meaning, and I’ve read the few books they allowed me to have way too often. It is not like I have anything better to do, stuck in these walls that resemble nothing and everything that is wrong with the world and its justice system all at once.
Isn’t it funny? How I have been made to be the bad guy, the worst for some, and yet I am still kept here. Alive and well with food and rest and books. The only downside to this all is loneliness… Maybe also a reason I started to write now after months of refusing to follow the suggestion.
It all seems useless as I stare onto the grey of the steel walls, they could really use some colour.