Letter 88

11 May 2016

Dear C,

What a glorious day it's been today! The sun felt like it wanted to explode in the middle of the sky above my head. I got an hour of the fresh air today and it was beautiful. I was almost high from all the ray of lights penetrating my skin and dancing with my atoms inside my body. Marvellous experience. And free of charge.

I keep meeting this guy Jermaine on the exercise yard quite often these days. He seems nice towards me and he speaks gently of things. I like that. He mostly speaks about God and the bible which is a total abstract to me... Maybe I should paint an abstract art called God one day? Just a thought.

Anyway, he has been telling me or rather giving me some hints about his future career which involves music and fashion - I guess that's what it was. Halfway through his story, my thoughts started to drift away and I was thinking about butterflies. Typical of me.

I can hardly concentrate on conversations with people that I have little interest in. But I wished him all the possible success with whatever future actions he is planning to take. I will never see him again in my life for sure (unless I decide to visit Jamaica), but I will be very happy if and when he succeeds.

My current plan for the future is to survive each day here without being beaten up again and to paint in my cell. Then continue with it once I am out. Not sure if my artwork ever finds any interest in the world outside of these prison walls, but it's ok - I should carry on regardless. I love what I'm doing and I will carry on. Until the day comes when I will be no longer capable of painting. So that's my "master" plan.

You know babe, I realized that last year around that time our world started to shake. There was an earthquake marked on our souls and it destroyed everything in its path.

You got diagnosed with cancer and my trial was approaching fast. Just thinking about all this now breaks my soul into pieces. Oh man, here comes the waterworks.

Ok, I'm back.

I had my haircut today which cost me a can of tuna. How funny is that? So, in real money its 1 pound. Seems like nothing, but 1 pound here is a lot. The guy who cut my hair is from Ecuador and he will also be deported from the UK soon. His name is David. He is self-obsessed about his so-called beauty - he thinks he is the most handsome guy that has ever walked on Earth. Well, let me tell you he isn't. You are. And whilst on the subject of male beauty - he is shorter than my mum (and she ain't Michael Jordan lol). I understand, that confidence is one thing, but narcissism is a whole different story. Very, very off-putting.

My gym is going well. I think I am becoming addicted to it. How bizarre? A year ago my definition of the exercise was climbing the stairs of a double-deck bus in London. Twice a day. Oh well.

The guy next door to me is playing the flute now. And he is not good at it at all. I like him though hence I shall pretend I am deaf tonight.

You know what C, I can be writing all these things in my letters to you... I can try to divert the thoughts in my head and talk about the guy playing the flute next door for example... In reality, I keep reminiscing on the fact, that we were never given a chance to build our own home together. And the truth is, that I'm missing you so fucking much. I just can't help it. I can't. And even though I'm trying to program my brain on one line on repeat: "Don't think about him, don't think about him" - I think of you almost all the time. Not being able to share the same breathing space with you is like depriving me of oxygen.

The only time I can breathe again is trough the art I create. Then I tend to disappear from here and through the colours on canvas I search for a new home that I'm trying to build - but this time without you.

Please be always safe out there. Be healthy. Be happy.

Forever yours,

Sebastian