“You should have listened to him, Valerie. You should have planted a bountiful garden—no, a bountiful forest of hatred for him!”
I looked at the wall outside the window. The plant there lost its color, dried, and is soon to fall down. It was a totally dead plant, seeking a drop of water coming from above.
I was really jealous of that little plant on the wall because I thought it was free from anything that chained it. But I was wrong to think that freedom is something that centered on a person or a thing that was living outside of jail, walking on the street, and passing by with many people.
The little plant was outside, but it was not free from the end of its life. I know that it could be more beautiful and green if it was only planted on healthy soil.
I sighed, returning to one se
