Tag Archives: corrections

When prison meets pizza

There used to be this Pizza place in Ely, Nevada named “My Papa’s Pizza” and I used to order from them frequently when I was in town visiting Jeremy back in the mid 2000s (especially when I was snowed in and stuck in town for days). They have since closed, but I remember that they would drop my pizza off at the front desk and the front desk agent, who was very familiar with my presence around the hotel(which is now called The Prospector, but back then was a Holiday Inn), would bring the pizza to my room. I remembered this little piece of personal pizza history randomly the other day while I was wondering if I would ever write another blog post again. After I started to think about the pizza place and the former Holiday Inn, now Prospector hotel, a flood of memories surrounding those earlier years of visiting started to come rushing in. Mostly I remembered that time in my life, that time in my adventure with Jeremy, at this point in my life, because I remember people being kind to me. Not a “fake smile” sort of kind, but a genuine appreciation for my story and what I was there for.

You see, everyone at the hotel knew who I was and who I was in town to see. Word tends to get around and to this day, I`m not entirely sure how. My best guess is that someone at the prison was in contact with someone at the hotel, or something along those lines. Anyway, people knew me and people knew who Jeremy was and they really were just kind to me, not because they had anything to gain but because sometimes life hands us a wild hand of cards and we play the fuck out of that hand even though we know the experience isn`t going to be the best and we might not come out ahead in the early stages of the game, or ever.

I knew the people at the old Holiday Inn by name, they would take me to and from the small Ely airport, when once upon a time, Scenic Airlines used to fly from North Las Vegas to Ely (it has since ceased this route and I find I strange and sort of cosmic that is ceased around the time I no longer needed those flights).They would shuttle me around to and from the airport and to and from the prison, until one day they just started to let me take “the Caddy”(the company Cadillac) on my own. They even left the keys under the driver’s side mat a few times and parked it at the airport so that when I arrived I could just drive myself to the hotel. I had become, strangely, some part of the Holiday Inn and I have a fondness for the building, even to this day.

There used to be a manager there named Dan and I remember him turning to me once while we were stopped at a red light on the way to Ely State Prison and he asked me if anyone had given me a hard time about who I was visiting out at the prison. I said no, and I wasn’t being entirely dishonest because no one ever SAID anything to me, but I did have one front desk clerk, at the beginning, give me the side eye about my adventures in Ely. Dan told me that if anyone ever said anything to me that I should let him know immediately because he wasn’t going to let anyone give me shit about my life choices, that is wasn’t their business, and that although life is sometimes crazy, that he believed in the goodness of people deep down, that he believed people made mistakes and that ultimately he believed in second chances and forgiveness.

That conversation has stuck with me all these years later, along with the memory of getting my grilled cheese and mashed potatoes (I really do love some weird food combinations) comped on a regular basis by Patrick at the hotel. Those memories stick with me because those people were so kind to me and they didn`t have to be. They could follow the small town rule of casting me out as a freak, or an outsider. They could eyeroll me so hard that I felt their contempt and ultimately they could have said some pretty nasty things to me, like people online have said to me, but they didn`t. They never did. They let their kindness and their willingness to listen and try to understand come first and I am so grateful for that.



Jeremy’s request for re-sentencing has been denied at this state level, which was to be expected but still makes for a disappointing sting. Although I’m sure we are in for more denials before we get any relief, I knew this first one was going to be extra upsetting for me. It’s also a bit anxiety inducing because at each level there will be sensationalized news articles released, spewing not facts about the case, but hearsay along with lies and the most inflammatory statements to get people angry.

The attorney representing the state called Jeremy’s case, and I quote, “the most heinous crime in history”*. I’m a little concerned how much history this individual knows, but that’s beside the point. The point is that the state is going to say anything, print anything, and throw anything at this case that they think will make us give up because that is their jobs. Their jobs aren’t rooted in impartiality or truth or having a soul. Their job is to win at any cost, even if it means lying about the facts of the case, manipulating details, omitting information, and making outrageous claims like the one the DA made to get it in the papers. I take back all my misplaced opinions about people who I’ve read negative things about in the media in the past. I understand now.

This is the appeals process, y’all. I’ve never personally been part of it until now, but I can tell my sensitive nature needs get ready for rejections and harsh words and it needs to learn how to move past it all. The truth? Yes, I want Jeremy to have a chance at parole someday. I know that angers some people, those who believe he doesn’t deserve a chance, those who believe no one deserves a second chance at life. I wonder if they also think this crime is the most heinous in history. I wonder if they take everything at face value and don’t bother to really get to know what’s going on.

The article about the denial that the LVRJ printed also includes inflammatory wording and insinuation of racism, which makes me laugh. It makes me laugh because one of the hate messages I received said I must not care about the victim because she was black. While it is ridiculously amusing now, when I read it and when I read this article, I could feel anger bubbling beneath the surface. It’s angering because race is not an issue here. We are two of the least racist people, so for the judge to make the comments about race and for the paper to print that, well that just goes to show they are relying on information that is not true. Maybe not even relying on it but counting on information that is not true to upset the public.

Jeremy’s best friend in prison is a man named Andre, an African American who sports a fro and at one time, before he knew Jeremy, wanted to murder him because he thought what the papers printed about him was true and that he was a monster. Each and every time someone wants to murder my husband because of what they think they know (and this has happened a lot, believe me) and then get to know him, they usually become friends. Whites, Blacks, Mexicans, Asians. My husband runs with them all, and treats everyone with respect, so for someone to claim racism makes me angry laugh, if that’s a thing. Just as I was typing the last part of this post, Jeremy called me before going out to yard and his friend Rasta, who is also African American, took the phone from him to say hi to me really quick. So, racism is not an issue here and it is that type of bullshit that gets printed in the papers. All I`m saying is, don`t believe everything you read. Not about my husband, not about his case, not about anything.

So, a denial. An expected one, but one that sucks nonetheless. From here the case is appealed to the Nevada Supreme Court, which I doubt will provide any relief either. After that? The case will move into the Federal District Court and from there the Ninth Circuit Court. It’s a waiting game now.

For those of you who are wondering what the argument is, or legal basis is for the appeal (because I know some guys Jeremy knows in prison have been wanting to file similar appeals when we get a favorable ruling), the issue is the age. Juveniles (which currently means under 18 in Nevada), are not sentenced to death or life without parole because of fairly recent rulings. The problem is that a line has been drawn at 18, but does one miraculously change into a full-fledged adult with a fully formed brain on their 18th birthday? What is the difference between 17 years 11 months and 18 years 1 month? Scientifically speaking, there is no difference. In fact, science says that the brain is not fully formed until the mid-twenties. There are raise the age campaigns going up across the nation, challenging the age 18 cut off. Why can’t people drink until their 21, which is when they are considered an adult, but they can be sentenced to life without parole at 18?

Some folks will argue that age does not matter and no matter what age you are, you deserve every harshness that comes your way if you commit a crime. For those folks: I really, really hope that you never get into any shit where you think the mercy of the system might be on your side.

I do want to touch on the fact that while I believe in second chances, I am not pro let serial killers, or those who continuously have severe behavioral problems, out without serious consideration and proof that they have rehabilitated. There are some people who just cannot stop committing crimes. So, yes, I do believe in punishment, but I also believe in the ability to change, in the age issue we are raising, and in second chances. Again, people will roll their eyes and say something along the lines of “Well there is no second chances for the victims of crimes”. You cannot get through to everyone and each person will have an opinion on justice and forgiveness of their own.

This feels like such a heavy informational post, which usually isn’t my jam, but I wanted to provide an update for those who are curious about the case and what we are doing, what is happening. If you’re here just to leave angry comments (which I`ve disabled because nobody has time for that) or be angry in general, there is nothing for you here. Yes, apparently, I am married to a man who committed the most heinous crime in history and this is our story.

*8/6/2018 I wanted to add here that I recently went back to the LVRJ article and it appears as though they have altered the quote by the DA to now read “…one of the most infamous and heinous crimes in history…”, which I find pretty funny because it just illustrates how ridiculous the media is. Also, still not even close there, y’all. Carry on.

Evidentiary Hearing v 1.0

How do you process the start of a journey that is going to decide your other half’s fate and ultimately yours? If you’re me, you apparently eat way too much ice cream, do not sleep nearly enough to function, and you cry a little, but not too much. That is how I am currently processing the aftermath of attending my first ever evidentiary hearing. I`m not going to lie: the hearing was terrifying for me (having no experience with this type of situation), anxiety inducing, but an event that I am glad I was there for because I want to support my husband as we weave our way through some back road that cannot be turned around on, so you have to just keep moving forward even though it sucks and you are so lost and you have no idea what is going to happen next. Buckle up and brace yourself for what is around the bend.

*click click click* The camera man is taking photos, thankfully not of me or the immediate family sitting in the courtroom with me, but he is taking photographs of the expert that is testifying. Photograph after photograph after photograph. He is taking photographs of the judge and the lawyers. He is taking photographs of Jeremy. My Jeremy. My stomach knots up the way it did before I got out of the car that morning. It knots up and my hands and pits are sweaty and I can hear my heartbeat in my ears and I`m trying to hear what all is being said, but my heart is drumming in my ears and I keep hearing the *click click* of that fucking camera in front and to the right of me and I want to get up and slap the whole thing out of that man’s hands. I envision myself doing just that, getting up and just slapping that stupid camera out of his hands and onto the floor just so he will stop taking pictures of Jeremy.

I look over at my husband, this man that I had only ever been with behind prison walls. This is our first time seeing each other, in the flesh, outside of a prison visiting room even though we have been married nearly 9 years and have a friendship that spans almost two decades. I look over at him and he is so focused, handsome, scruffy with his glasses on and just looking forward and taking notes,  aware that the photographer is clicker happy. I keep looking at my husband and he happens to look over and we exchange a smirk off camera, a knowing smirk, an understanding one, some secret declaration of “It’s okay. I`m here and you are here and we are here and I love you”. If all that can be said in a smirk, we said it and I was glad for that exchange in my moment of sweaty armpits and desire to slap the camera onto the floor. I wanted to have a  full on Braveheart moment and just slap the camera down and yell “FRRREEEEDOOOMMM!!!!!”. Not the appropriate time for that I guess.

While the clicker happy camera man is taking photo after photo, some “junior reporter person” is shadowing him, and by shadowing him, I mean she is recording footage of the testimony on her phone and moving the phone around like she is at some concert for a band she likes and she is trying to capture all the action. So, clicky McClickerson and mobile device concert capturer are hard at work for the Las Vegas Review Journal. There was also a reporter taking notes, who ended up writing an article which is half “facts” all fucked up, half “that is not even true, did you just make that up?” I am aware of note taker, camera person, professional phone recorder person, the judge, the lawyers, the prosecution, bailiffs, court workers .My eyes do laps around the courtroom, examining expressions while scientific terms flood my ears, just barely audible over my heart that will not calm. Back to Jeremy, back to sweating, back to looking around. This goes on for nearly two hours and I exhaust myself.

After all is said and done, we walk out with no answers because this isn`t a decision that can be made lightly. There is too much to examine, to weigh, to consider. The decision will mostly likely take the judge the entire 60 days to reach and I`ll be holding my breath until then, playing out scenarios about what happens next, what the judge will say, what appeals will be filed after to challenge the “winning” side, how long this will go on for, if my husband will ever have a chance at getting out of prison. This process will most likely continue for longer than I`d like because the system does not go swiftly and it does not go off without a hitch. I spend a lot of my time in a precarious space when it comes to thinking about what is going to happen next. What I do know for certain is that I will be at every court hearing and take every low-key smirk from my husband that I can get. I also know that I will face my anxiety to support the person I love the most in this world and that I believe in second chances.


Shades of freedom

There is so much hesitation when talking about Jeremy’s potential for freedom, for release into the world and into my embrace. There is so much hesitation and so much trepidation that are at war with my hope and the vision that I have in my head of a life with my life partner. So much that I normally don`t even want to talk about it. I cannot talk about it some days. The thoughts and the feelings that those thoughts own sit on a shelf in the back of my mind, there for accessing but not for showing. What is the truth? That I`m terrified of my husband never getting a second chance and I feel a sense of overwhelming nervousness that he will, that we will be able to build a life after so many years of being apart the majority of the time. I live in this space between crying while laughing and laughing while crying and sometimes I`m not sure which one is which. There are days when I`m not sure if my life is very empty or very full. All I know is that I have a faint glimmer of hope and sometimes that is all you need to get out of bed in the morning, committed to your cause, ready to give it all you’ve got even though you are tired.

Jeremy and I have never known each other outside of prison walls. We have never eaten a meal at our dining room table together or held hands in the rain or been able to leave each other silly notes that are part smart ass, part madly in love. We have never shopped for groceries together, embraced in sadness beyond the barb wire. We have never shared immense joy the moment it happens out in the world, far from the confines of the prison and its rules, its walls. But…it feels like we have done all of those things and more. These last 15 years have felt like anything real is supposed to feel, complete with its ups and downs, two steps forward and ten steps back. No crazy imagination necessary. We built our own version of freedom ourselves and have sustained each other with the restraint breaking completeness that unconditional love provides. Him and I in our little bubble in the middle of a visiting room, on the phone with our louder than life laughter and the passionate affirming silence of two people who don`t need to say a word to know. We know each other better than we know ourselves and I never thought I would have that with another person.

The other day Jeremy told me that his friend Mike was rolling up and transferring to a prison up north, that he was giving up on his appeals and wanted the freedom of being at a prison that allows more time outside of the cell, but not one that inmates are really releasing from. This prison up north is where he is going to get comfortable, to settle into his sentence and maybe where he is going to leave this world. This news was unexpected and caught me off guard. “I didn’t know he was leaving. You didn’t tell me” I said​. I like Mike quite a bit and in fact, I just saw him the last time I visited. When he saw me, he lit up and gifted me a huge goofy grin and a wave. Upon my departure, he wished me a safe drive. I wish I would have paid attention to that moment a little better now.

I hate endings and I hate not knowing if I’ll ever see someone again. Knowing that he is relocating to come to terms with giving up on life on the outside pains me in a way that I cannot describe, but Jeremy explained to me that Mike wanted to be happy and he knew that he could be happy somewhere else, that as a habitual criminal in the past who has caught a serious sentence, that he knew he would probably never get out and didn`t want to pursue freedom to the outside world further.

Freedom is available in shades, in levels that are so personal to a person and a circumstance. Although I am sad about Mike, I have to think of his choice as liberation for him, one that he is choosing. How can I argue with that? I cannot. I can only wish him well and focus my attention on grasping my hope for my husband’s shade of freedom that involves a life beyond the prison gate.


Sex and Sunshine

I used to talk to this woman at Lovelock Correctional Center who stood by her man for 20 years. Anytime I saw her at visiting I had a feeling of friendship and calm wash over me because she was very easy to talk to and sort of took me under her wing when I first started to visit Jeremy regularly at that prison. I saw her not too long before her man was released, which was also just before I married Jeremy. I remember when I told her that I was going to marry Jeremy,  she just enveloped me in her arms for the biggest hug ever. If there is ever a time when I needed comfort, it was before I made that life leap. Our ships passed briefly in the proverbial night, but I liked her a great deal. I always asked myself if that was going to be me someday, a thought that both interests me and terrifies me. She was dedicated to her husband for 20 years of incarceration and I used to wonder how she did it, what her private life was like, if she thought a lot about sex and walking in the sunshine with her husband.

It has been almost 8 years since I hugged this woman goodbye, a stranger goodbye, a sad and happy goodbye, a “farewell, I will never see you again but thank you for your time in my life” goodbye. More than likely, when you part from someone to meet you prison, you know you’ll never seen them again. It’s part of the landscape of prison relationships.

All these memories and repressed excitement that makes my heart beat, came to the surface after listening to the latest episode of Ear Hustle, a podcast from inside San Quentin state prison in California, that I’ve started to listen to and enjoy. I find myself laughing and nodding my head while I listen and I realize just how familiar prison feels to me, how much I know, and how common the themes are, no matter where your person is incarcerated. This particular episode was about couples, sex, family visits, connecting on an intimate level, and the general struggle of being in a romantic relationship, or shall I say maintaining a romantic relationship, while one member happens to be behind the barbed wire. It ain’t easy, that’s for sure, and you can quote me on that.

When I think about my marriage to Jeremy, how we met after he was already in prison, how there are no “family visits”(also referred to as conjugal visits) in the state of Nevada, and how we have never even held hands in the sun….well, I start to think about just how different my marriage really is. Sometimes Jeremy and I literally look at each other, fully aware of the bizarre life we have built, and we laugh. Yet it all seems so “normal” because if you do anything for an extended length of time, it inevitably seems commonplace, no matter how unconventional it might be. Been married almost 8 years and never had sex with each other or been outside together? Totally normal.

Only a very small number of states allow conjugal visits and usually if you have a life without parole sentence, those visits are even less likely. So, the chances of me getting alone time with my husband is pretty much nonexistent. I never had to really come to terms with that fact, it just is. It does “help” that we never were together in the “free” world, but I’ve just accepted that prison infringes on anything private. Even though I am free citizen, I am also a prisoner right along with Jeremy when it comes to our time together. I have little control over my own skin to skin contact with my life partner. I have made adjustments to my life plans when it comes to intimacy, have had to redefine the term and my expectations. I have officially ruled out having children as something that I would want for myself at this point, and have settled with the idea, that for now, I can be outside and Jeremy can be outside, but we cannot be outside together. “You have to see my new hair color in the sun” I tell him, but I know that isn’t possible.

I used to get frustrated when people would casually ask “So WHEN do you get to have sex with Jeremy?” Over the years, I’ve learned that people on the outside just don’t really understand how the prison system works, the restrictions that are imposed, and just how difficult the rules make it to even see each other sometimes, let alone maintain any type of “sex life” beyond creative writing and an exchange of words over a monitored and recorded call.  You have to throw a bit of your inhibition away and if you have anxiety like me, you have to throw all of your inhibition away and get comfortable with being uncomfortable.

So, as a 32 year old woman, I have to dig deep and modify where I can because at this point I’m not interested in extracurricular activities (my silly reference to extramarital affairs). In this life, there just comes a point, one that I’ve been at for a while, that you stare down the prison bullshit and then turn to your partner and say “Okay! I love you and I’m in it for the long haul and this sucks but let’s make this shit work”. The application for “friends with benefits” has long been torn up and thrown into the air like correctional confetti.

Side boyfriends and accepting ones fate aside… I have seen and heard a lot of funny stories about women visiting their men and trying to “release”. Well, it’s hard to release when you are constantly being watched like some freak show, the guard’s personal prison porn.  The thought of a voyeuristic intrusion doesn’t seem to faze some people, though, and I have on more than one occasion tried to ignore quick face sucking, momentary grinding, and the end of a kinky sex fantasy in the visiting room. My ears pick up every other word and I find myself trying to block out and listen at the same time. You gotta do what you gotta do, I guess. No judgement.

Note: If you ever do end up in the visiting room at Ely State Prison, choose your chair wisely and stay away from any weird stains. No, I`m not joking.


Post media reflection

There have definitely been moments lately, where I`ve paused and thought to myself “Where is my place in this mess?” These thoughts have flooded my head daily, especially after the articles in the Las Vegas Review Journal came out. I’ve spent my time, half maintaining a “normal” schedule, and the other half lost in thought over what is going to happen next, sometimes holding my breath without meaning to.

After the articles came out, I avoided the loose lipped comment section of Facebook for self-preservation. Some of my friends looked at the comments after the newspaper repeatedly posted the story with catchy, sensationalized headlines, hoping to appeal to folks with pitchforks in hand. My friends let me know to avoid the comment section if I could and I did.  I did however happen to see a comment on the actual newspaper’s website, where one reader asked “What SANE woman would marry a murderer?” or something to that effect. I reflected on my own state of mind, my life, what brought me here, my marriage, where I was when all of this happened with Jeremy, my moral radar, and my own personal truth.

I`m not sure that insane psychopaths really take the time out to their days to reflect on life and morality, so I don`t know that I am insane at all, but maybe just a person who believes in the power of the human spirit, second chances, and a person who believes that not everything as is it seems? Question mark intended because I pose the question to myself and anyone really.

I received no “hate mail” after the articles came out. Jeremy has received one piece of direct hate mail (which you can read about on his blog) and oddly enough, his mother received a nasty message on Facebook. I`m not sure what  the purpose of lashing out at one’s mother is, but I guess this person felt it necessary to feel like he or she did their duty by lashing out at someone related to Jeremy. We all want someone, anyone to blame and point the finger at. It’s easy to blame someone and think to ourselves “I’ve spoken my ‘peace’ and did my part”. Oftentimes our “peace” speaking and lashing out is misdirected, but outrage, pain and a need to do something have a way of making people blind to the misdirection of their actions.

I have actually received way more positive encouragement after the articles than I expected. Jeremy and I both wrote blog posts about our thoughts on the articles and I noticed a flood of activity on our blogs and have received messages from friends and strangers alike. Anytime I open a Facebook message from someone I don`t know, I hesitate for a moment and brace myself for what it is going to say but…it has turned out being like waiting for a bomb to go off and nothing happening. While I had received some awful blog comments in the past, the aftermath of the newspaper articles and follow-up blog posts on our end about it, has been surprisingly favorable.

My friends have been incredibly encouraging, taking the time to read mine and Jeremy’s blog posts and provide feedback or open a platform to discuss the posts from an open minded and understanding place. I’ve even had a couple of them ask if they could visit with Jeremy in the future.  So, thank you friends. On the unexpected front, I have had people I do not know reading my blog and some of those people have reached out to me personally on Facebook with their own stories of tragedy and ties to the prison system, their own understanding, and their own thoughts on life and redemption. I am grateful for these people who think before they speak, who make space for a story other than what is portrayed in the media, and who are genuinely people who recognize pain and loss but who also have an open heart.

Like I mentioned at the beginning, I’ve found myself questioning my place in this situation, questioning my place as Jeremy’s wife and sometimes worldly representative to those who do not know him. Sometimes I even think to myself, “What right do I have to be here, to talk about Jeremy and prison and the case?” I entered stage right later in Jeremy’s story, when he was already in prison. I used to think it was by chance, but more and more I`m starting to believe that it was just meant to be part of my journey and that we are two people who came together to build something worthwhile after a terrible event. Even though we have known each other for almost 17 years, I still question my sense of belonging and my right to belong in this story.

So, where is my place? Do I belong here? I read this quote by one of my favorite authors, Brene Brown, today and the timing was almost eerie as I write this blog post.

“No one belongs here more than you” – Brene Brown


Headphones for the heart

“If we can make it through another day
With you believing in my innocence
And we can make it through another year
‘Cause we both need it to forget this fear” – White Lie by The Lumineers

Listening to music through headphones changes the music. It changes how you feel about the music, the lyrics. It changes the story, the intensity. Mild fascination with words sung become a life line, a soundtrack to your deepest emotional crevices. The songs become your heartbeat. The music becomes you and you become the music. At least, that’s what happens to me. It must be said that I am absolutely a person who depends on music for survival.

I’ve recently become smitten with the Lumineers and although I heard their first popular song, “Ho Hey”, some time ago, I didn’t pay the band much attention. I actually heard “Ho Hey” initially on a road trip out to visit Jeremy, when visiting was an entire trip away. I remember thinking to myself how appropriate the line “I’ve been trying to do it right. I’ve been living a lonely life” was on my solo journey out into the desert to hold hands with a man I have never brushed skin with outside in the sunshine. Those lyrics stuck with me. The loneliness of that line stuck with me and I found myself singing it over and over again on that car ride.

I recently got hooked on The Lumineers and have even persuaded Jeremy to download some of their songs on his MP3 player. Yes, sometimes prisoners get MP3 players, though definitely not for free. I apply parts of each song I hear  to my life with Jeremy. I read an article about the band recently, where the lead singer referred to his brother(another band member), Jeremy, as “Jer” and it made me raise an eyebrow and laugh and sort of cry at the same time because we call my Jeremy, “Jer”. It’s funny how common things become magic when you allow them to.

I believe in unseen life connections. I often have trouble having faith in those connections because the patterns are woven in such a delicate manner that they are tough to see on especially dark nights. I get so frustrated with the kingdom of love that we have built because it is so unbelievably beautiful and vulnerable and it feels, fragile even though it’s strong.  On the surface we are two kids in love who happened to stumble upon each other, maybe by a happy accident, maybe by divine intervention. What do I know? I know that I love someone who lives in a prison in Nevada who came to know, and eventually marry, through a single letter I sent so long ago. I know that what we have is the truest life experience I have ever known. I know that I need to start fucking believing in this path I chose to walk on again. I am going to listen to life with my headphones on from here on out. The situation isn’t ideal, obviously, but I often feel like I’m taking “the music” for granted. I feel like I stopped looking at this adventure with Jer in an exciting light. I replaced “adventure” with “fear” and “hurt” and “the end”.

I’m going to dig deep, open my ears and my heart. I’m going into this next area of the path with the feeling that this is the beginning. This IS where the magic happens. It’s like when you’re listening to an especially long intro to a song. You’re waiting for the intro to “break”. You’re waiting, waiting, waiting, and when the lyrics begin and beat changes, you realize there can be no song without the intro.

“It’s better to feel pain, than nothing at all
The opposite of love’s indifference”- Stubborn Love by The Lumineers