That there are things in this world not carved out of gray stone. That there's a small place inside of us they can never lock away, and that place is called hope.
I find I'm so excited. I can barely sit still or hold a thought in my head. I think it the excitement only a free man can feel, a free man at the start of a long journey whose conclusion is uncertain. I hope I can make it across the border.I hope the Pacific is as blue as it has been in my dreams. I hope to see my friend, and shake his hand. I hope.
I have to remind myself that some birds aren't meant to be caged. Their feathers are just too bright. And when they fly away, the part of you that knows it was a sin to lock them up DOES rejoice. Still, the place you live in is that much more drab and empty that they're gone. I guess I just miss my friend.