at the door.

My heart is heavy again, leaving friends behind cement walls and barred windows.  Driving home down the 5 in the pounding rain, wondering if they can hear it from their 10x10 laying four feet above their cellmate.  What they wouldn't give to be in my shoes right now.  What they wouldn't do to be able to go home and cook noodles with spaghetti sauce... as I complain about how long the water takes to boil.  Sitting here contemplating how I'm going to go grocery shopping tomorrow and fit everything on my bike, then trying to imagine not being able to choose what you eat, when you eat, or how long you get to eat.  Not being able to ride my bike to the store, not having a bike, not having freedom.  My heart hurts at these sobering facts, my mind can't comprehend eighteen years living this life and being able to sit down in our three-hour long class with a legitimate smile.  Knowing you won't set foot outside of these walls for at least the next twenty-two, but working toward something beyond being locked up, being a statistic, being another number in our system.  I've never been so emotionally and mentally challenged in a class before in my life.