The moonlight is streaming in through our little window. I can’t sleep. I am sitting up in my bunk, writing my last entry in the space left, and sobbing in the quiet way you learn in prison so you don’t add to anyone else’s grief. I feel sad to be leaving. Yes, strange as it sounds, this has become my home, these girls are like my sisters. I can’t imagine the lonely privacy of living without them. I tell myself the connection will continue. It does not go away because you leave. And I begin to understand the revolution in a new way.
