Chapter 8 Grace
It is a little thing. A little gesture. I’m taken to use the bathroom and when I return, it is there. On the desk. As if it has always been there.
Its leaves are shiny with a slight wax texture.
It feels robust, solid, as if it can survive the confines of this place better than I can.
I try to keep my joy hidden but it is impossible to do so.
I have something. Something that is not white, that is not flat.
Something that is real, alive.
It is madness, stupid, but I sit on the bed, and I pull out the book Antonio gave me. In my head, I stick two fingers up at the camera, and I read out loud one poem after another. Letting my new plant hear it, letting it rejoice in each new verse as I speak it.
This gift will cost me - I know that.
But right now, it feels like I would pay any price. Any price at all.