A cocoon: One's saving grace.

Trying to imagine. Being a prisoner. In solitary confinement. I could do it. If I’m allowed to write. Give me a pen. And paper. And I’ll find a way to make it through. To survive. And still be relatively happy. Even fulfilled. Angry, of course. Over my incarceration. Especially in non-humane confinement. But I have to find a way to make the best of the situation. By writing. Every day. My thoughts. Maybe I would create a world. My own world. On paper. In words. I’d keep exercising my mind. Working out physically, too. Even in a tiny cell. By jogging in place. Calisthenics, too. Anyway, make-believe is a good thing. Living various scenarios. Without actually living ‘em. Gives me a better understanding of myself. How would one survive? And still live happily. If deprived of freedom. Maybe there are worst things. Such as being dead. Or being dreadfully and incurably ill. And in great physical pain. It’s all relative, isn’t it? What if one had a choice between several very undesirable alternatives? Can one still remain in love? With life? Maybe. If it’s solitary confinement. And one is still physically healthy. And able to write. And think. The ability to create.  A cocoon. That may be one’s saving grace. –Jim Broede