"Change is not something we should fear. Rather, it is something that we should welcome. For without change, thing in this world would ever grow or blossom, and no one in this world would ever move forward to become the person they're meant to be." -Anonymous
My eyes flick open. Nothing. . . again. No more dreams. For 21 days, sleep has equaled a lonely darkness and existence without being able to dream of my baby. Not being able to see her has been a nightly nightmare.
I can only hear her distinct voice, brief utterances, calling our to me in the dark distance as she speaks to me in our unique love language. "I miss you so much Shawn Ali, please dream of me soon", her sweet voice cries out to me, then there's silence and darkness. Each word I hear makes my heart leap with joy/hope, and I find myself smiling and wiping tears from my eyes. Her words are like tootsie -pops, words with more meaningful words on the inside that I'm somehow able to hear clearly and decipher at a time when I can't see her.
Each time I hear her voice or I look into her eyes, I feel something. Foreign and fuzzy feelings have seeped through the crumbling cracks of the tall walls that surround my heart. The more time I spend with her in my dreams, and the more I get to know her, the more bricks fall from my wall and the closer I feel her to my heart.
I've never felt like this for a woman, so the way the woman from my dreams, my Beautiful Black Widow, makes me feel, scares me sometimes. It was supposed to be a wet-dream, a game of seduction. I wasn't supposed to get my feelings involved, but I -- we -- did. She makes me weak and emotional at a time when I need to be strong. I don't like that she is so close to my heart and makes me emotionally vulnerable, but then I do like it because it feels so right. I don't know what it is, but even when I try not to, I can't stop thinking about her. My heart wants nothing more than to meet my elusive dream-woman and to explore the something-special connection that exists between us.
They say, we don't know what we have or how good it is until we lose it. At this moment, with me not being able to dream of my Black Widow, the truth of this statement has a new and deeper meaning to it. I miss you, baby. O, what I wouldn't give for a glimpse of your cute face right now. To gaze into your eyes, just once. Damn, how I wish I could redo one one of our last dreams together, so I could give you more than I gave you.
I'm laying down on my bunk inside inside of the fabric cocoon of the makeshift tent that I make every night by tying up the four corners of my outstretched sheet. When I lay down inside of my sheet-tent, I sleep and dream better. I'm able to block out the visual realities of prison life without blocking them out entirely because I can still hear the sounds of the prison machine clicking and clacking all around me.
I have to try to sleep in order to dream, so I can try once again to see her. I can't give up. Or should I? Maybe I should just leave her alone and let her go. If it's meant to be, one of these nights I'll dream of her and we'll continue to our amazing love-lust adventure.
"She doesn't care about you. She's only using you for dream sex and she has several stud spiders just like you", says a wicked, slutty female voice. "Dream of me baby. I won't kill you like she did".
There is nothing you can tell me to turn me against her. I know you're lying. They can try, but there isn't another spider like me. Only I can do what I do to her and only I can make her feel the way I do. Now go away. I don't want to dream of you anymore.
I lay inside my sheet-tent and listen very closely to he swirl of sounds as I will myself back to sleep. ♫♪This time, I might not make it . . . this time, I might not make it ♫♪. I hear the new song by the Weekend playing out of someone's homemade, contraband speaker out onto the tier. A tear slips down my face as I think about her and what I'm going through. I like the melody of the song but I can't say the same for the words. I don't know what the hell he's talking about. I'm going to make it. I have to. I will.
The sounds, noises, and voices continue spinning all around me: A metal door slams shut. Telephone rings several times. Toilet flushing. A walkie-talkie squawks, and I think I recognize the feminine voice. There are also incoherent female guard voices chattering away in the hallway. Meanwhile, three guys from the same side of Houston are shouting an annoying conversation about their playa and hustlin' glory days in the freeworld. A Ramen soup is intentionally slammed down hard to the ground to break-up the noodles into pieces. "L and L call the desk", the intercom announcement.
I glance at my clock-radio -- 1:43 pm. I rub my eyes, and when I look again it's 9:11 pm. I check my calendar, but all the numbers are missing except February 3rd. Either I've gone back in time, or I'm dreaming.
February 3rd is one of the déjà-vu days in my life. It was the unforgettable day 21 years ago I was wrongly arrested on this case. The day, 2 years ago, I arrived on the Eastham Unit. It's the day, 21 days ago, I last dreamed of her, my Beautiful Black Widow.
I'm innocent of Attempted Capital Murder, the case I'm unjustly doing time on. However, I'm guilty as charged for being a persistent passionate man, full of fire, in a coldhearted place. Guilty of loving women and wanting to be with a woman. Guilty of dreaming of a woman I have never met, but I feel like I've known her all my life. Guilty of being crazy about her and maybe going crazy in the process. I'm guilty for being a man.
Even when I can't see her and spend time with her in my dreams, and even when I don't hear her familiar voice, I can still feel the power of her presence. In spite of the barriers, obstacles, and challenges that we face in our dreamworld, we're intimately connected -- our hearts, minds, and spirits. When two people are deeply connected -- emotionally and want the same thing -- to be together -- like we are, our hearts won't allow us to stop until it happens. And it's like, the more obstacles that separate us, the more I find myself wanting to be with her. And only her.
Yes, I have unshakable, unwavering faith, and I believe dreams do come true, but I have to admit, it hurts like hell that she presently exists only in my dreams. Hurts that I can't talk to her and get to know her. Hurts that we can't exchange letters and phone calls. Hurts that I can't hold her hand, pull out her chair, and cuddle with her. Hurts that I can't wrap her in my warm embrace and give her all the romantic passion that's been boiling inside of me for two decades. That I can't sing to her and make her melt in my muscular arms. That I can't fuck and stimulate her mind with thought-provoking conversations. That I can't inspire her strongest inner desire and bring out the best woman in her. That I can't do all the little, everyday things with her that the average couple neglects or takes for granted. It hurts. Damn, it hurts, and now that my imagination is failing me and I can't dream of her, it hurts more.
I'm probably wasting my time dreaming of her. What if she doesn't exist and/or already has a husband/family. Even if she doesn't exist as I see her and have come to know her in my dreams, I have nothing to lose and everything to gain by dreaming of her. If and when we do meet one day and it doesn't work out in reality because she has a husband, what have I lost? Nothing. If nothing else I may have gained a lifetime female bestfriend.
Wait, who am I kidding? I have a lot to lose. My time, energy, love, heart, future, goals, and my destiny. So I do have a lot to lose, but the truth is, right now, she is one of my main motivations and keeps me going on my most difficult days. Plus, I enjoy her company and the way I feel when I'm with her. That's why I need to dream of her and to see where my dreams will one day take us.
I don't know if it's the same woman that I see in my dreams, but I do know this: out there somewhere lives my soulmate and one day real soon I'm going to find her. Everything I do right now to become a better, balanced man and to prepare myself for my eventual release is not just for me but for her, too. I want to become the best man in my prison present, so I can be the best man for her and our family in my freeworld future.
O, by the way, I know the main reason I can't dream of her. In fact, it's all my fault. I cheated on her by dreaming of another spider, Mandy, the head-hunter, trailer-park hunting spider. What can I say, my Black Widow wasn't around and I was super horny. And cheat may be the wrong word to use because, well, we're not officially "together", but it's the only way I can explain it.
My Black Widow cheats on me, too. I mean, if she enters into my dreams, why wouldn't she enter into another guy's dreams to fulfill her sexual needs and wants when, like now, I'm not able to dream of her. I know she cheats on me. O, I know where she goes, and I know who he is, or rather, who they are since there's more than one. Most guy spiders talk too damn much. I can't lie, it makes me jealous, but who am I to talk (smile). I don't hold her natural spider desires against her because I know she's mine and they can never make her feel the way I do. Her and I share something that's greater, special, and lasting. Something that feels pure.
though we haven't met and are not together, in our dreamworld we are emotionally involved and invested in an extremely unique relationship that arouses jealousy when one of us "cheats". When my Black Widow is around and in the midst of one of my dreams, I only want her, to be faithful and loyal to her. Even when she's not around, but other female spiders are, thinking of my Black Widow makes me not want to mess around with them because I feel bad when I cheat on her, especially if it's one of her spider spy friends.
The problem is it's harder for me to resist temptation when she's not around and I'm not able to dream of her. There are some seductive, sexy spiders, who know my tendencies and who go out of their way to enter into my dreams. As a sexually passionate man with 21 years of cell-life living, I eventually give in to the temptation and cheat on my baby.
Over our many amazing dreams, as our sexual interest grew more into an emotional interest, I told myself it would be all about her. I told myself I wasn't going to allow teh seductive devices or jealousy of some crazy, insecure spider to take me away from my Black Widow or to take her away from me, but I have . . . temporarily. No matter how hard I try, I can't dream of my baby. Now this time, I feel like the one who has betrayed her. I'm sorry. I tries, baby. You have no idea how hard I tried to dream only of you.
♫♪ I miss you, I'm talking to you baby . . . I miss you ♫♪, the R&B classic by Aaron Hall is the next song I hear out on the tier. Damn, I love this song. But why this song? Why now? It's too much. I can't stop them. The flood of dream memories of my Black Widow and I makes a flood of tears fall down my face.
I glance at the clock-radio again. 8:37 pm. Our dream date is supposed to start in three minutes. I have to keep trying to dream of her.
I kiss my fingertips and extending my arm, I reach out and touch my fingers over he picture of my Black Widow that I have taped to my wall. She's wearing a white, oval-shaped mask that hides her facial features, but I know it's her. It's the same picture that I stuffed into my pocket in Part 2 to Creative Reflections. Suddenly the picture transmogrifies and comes alive. Her facial features appear and she's smiling really big. I love her smile, so beautiful. Her long hair begins to grow and flow wildly out of the picture. Moving her hand slightly, I can see her pretty nails changing and reflecting from one color to the next of the rainbow.
Damn, I miss her so much and if I could talk to my dream-woman, this is what I would tell her: No matter how long we're apart or how many days I'm not able to dream of you, I'm always thinking of you and part of you is always with me. Take care. See you soon.
My eyes flick open. Nothing. . . again. No more dreams. For 21 days, sleep has equaled a lonely darkness and existence without being able to dream of my baby. Not being able to see her has been a nightly nightmare.
I can only hear her distinct voice, brief utterances, calling our to me in the dark distance as she speaks to me in our unique love language. "I miss you so much Shawn Ali, please dream of me soon", her sweet voice cries out to me, then there's silence and darkness. Each word I hear makes my heart leap with joy/hope, and I find myself smiling and wiping tears from my eyes. Her words are like tootsie -pops, words with more meaningful words on the inside that I'm somehow able to hear clearly and decipher at a time when I can't see her.
Each time I hear her voice or I look into her eyes, I feel something. Foreign and fuzzy feelings have seeped through the crumbling cracks of the tall walls that surround my heart. The more time I spend with her in my dreams, and the more I get to know her, the more bricks fall from my wall and the closer I feel her to my heart.
I've never felt like this for a woman, so the way the woman from my dreams, my Beautiful Black Widow, makes me feel, scares me sometimes. It was supposed to be a wet-dream, a game of seduction. I wasn't supposed to get my feelings involved, but I -- we -- did. She makes me weak and emotional at a time when I need to be strong. I don't like that she is so close to my heart and makes me emotionally vulnerable, but then I do like it because it feels so right. I don't know what it is, but even when I try not to, I can't stop thinking about her. My heart wants nothing more than to meet my elusive dream-woman and to explore the something-special connection that exists between us.
They say, we don't know what we have or how good it is until we lose it. At this moment, with me not being able to dream of my Black Widow, the truth of this statement has a new and deeper meaning to it. I miss you, baby. O, what I wouldn't give for a glimpse of your cute face right now. To gaze into your eyes, just once. Damn, how I wish I could redo one one of our last dreams together, so I could give you more than I gave you.
I'm laying down on my bunk inside inside of the fabric cocoon of the makeshift tent that I make every night by tying up the four corners of my outstretched sheet. When I lay down inside of my sheet-tent, I sleep and dream better. I'm able to block out the visual realities of prison life without blocking them out entirely because I can still hear the sounds of the prison machine clicking and clacking all around me.
I have to try to sleep in order to dream, so I can try once again to see her. I can't give up. Or should I? Maybe I should just leave her alone and let her go. If it's meant to be, one of these nights I'll dream of her and we'll continue to our amazing love-lust adventure.
"She doesn't care about you. She's only using you for dream sex and she has several stud spiders just like you", says a wicked, slutty female voice. "Dream of me baby. I won't kill you like she did".
There is nothing you can tell me to turn me against her. I know you're lying. They can try, but there isn't another spider like me. Only I can do what I do to her and only I can make her feel the way I do. Now go away. I don't want to dream of you anymore.
I lay inside my sheet-tent and listen very closely to he swirl of sounds as I will myself back to sleep. ♫♪This time, I might not make it . . . this time, I might not make it ♫♪. I hear the new song by the Weekend playing out of someone's homemade, contraband speaker out onto the tier. A tear slips down my face as I think about her and what I'm going through. I like the melody of the song but I can't say the same for the words. I don't know what the hell he's talking about. I'm going to make it. I have to. I will.
The sounds, noises, and voices continue spinning all around me: A metal door slams shut. Telephone rings several times. Toilet flushing. A walkie-talkie squawks, and I think I recognize the feminine voice. There are also incoherent female guard voices chattering away in the hallway. Meanwhile, three guys from the same side of Houston are shouting an annoying conversation about their playa and hustlin' glory days in the freeworld. A Ramen soup is intentionally slammed down hard to the ground to break-up the noodles into pieces. "L and L call the desk", the intercom announcement.
I glance at my clock-radio -- 1:43 pm. I rub my eyes, and when I look again it's 9:11 pm. I check my calendar, but all the numbers are missing except February 3rd. Either I've gone back in time, or I'm dreaming.
February 3rd is one of the déjà-vu days in my life. It was the unforgettable day 21 years ago I was wrongly arrested on this case. The day, 2 years ago, I arrived on the Eastham Unit. It's the day, 21 days ago, I last dreamed of her, my Beautiful Black Widow.
I'm innocent of Attempted Capital Murder, the case I'm unjustly doing time on. However, I'm guilty as charged for being a persistent passionate man, full of fire, in a coldhearted place. Guilty of loving women and wanting to be with a woman. Guilty of dreaming of a woman I have never met, but I feel like I've known her all my life. Guilty of being crazy about her and maybe going crazy in the process. I'm guilty for being a man.
Even when I can't see her and spend time with her in my dreams, and even when I don't hear her familiar voice, I can still feel the power of her presence. In spite of the barriers, obstacles, and challenges that we face in our dreamworld, we're intimately connected -- our hearts, minds, and spirits. When two people are deeply connected -- emotionally and want the same thing -- to be together -- like we are, our hearts won't allow us to stop until it happens. And it's like, the more obstacles that separate us, the more I find myself wanting to be with her. And only her.
Yes, I have unshakable, unwavering faith, and I believe dreams do come true, but I have to admit, it hurts like hell that she presently exists only in my dreams. Hurts that I can't talk to her and get to know her. Hurts that we can't exchange letters and phone calls. Hurts that I can't hold her hand, pull out her chair, and cuddle with her. Hurts that I can't wrap her in my warm embrace and give her all the romantic passion that's been boiling inside of me for two decades. That I can't sing to her and make her melt in my muscular arms. That I can't fuck and stimulate her mind with thought-provoking conversations. That I can't inspire her strongest inner desire and bring out the best woman in her. That I can't do all the little, everyday things with her that the average couple neglects or takes for granted. It hurts. Damn, it hurts, and now that my imagination is failing me and I can't dream of her, it hurts more.
I'm probably wasting my time dreaming of her. What if she doesn't exist and/or already has a husband/family. Even if she doesn't exist as I see her and have come to know her in my dreams, I have nothing to lose and everything to gain by dreaming of her. If and when we do meet one day and it doesn't work out in reality because she has a husband, what have I lost? Nothing. If nothing else I may have gained a lifetime female bestfriend.
Wait, who am I kidding? I have a lot to lose. My time, energy, love, heart, future, goals, and my destiny. So I do have a lot to lose, but the truth is, right now, she is one of my main motivations and keeps me going on my most difficult days. Plus, I enjoy her company and the way I feel when I'm with her. That's why I need to dream of her and to see where my dreams will one day take us.
I don't know if it's the same woman that I see in my dreams, but I do know this: out there somewhere lives my soulmate and one day real soon I'm going to find her. Everything I do right now to become a better, balanced man and to prepare myself for my eventual release is not just for me but for her, too. I want to become the best man in my prison present, so I can be the best man for her and our family in my freeworld future.
O, by the way, I know the main reason I can't dream of her. In fact, it's all my fault. I cheated on her by dreaming of another spider, Mandy, the head-hunter, trailer-park hunting spider. What can I say, my Black Widow wasn't around and I was super horny. And cheat may be the wrong word to use because, well, we're not officially "together", but it's the only way I can explain it.
My Black Widow cheats on me, too. I mean, if she enters into my dreams, why wouldn't she enter into another guy's dreams to fulfill her sexual needs and wants when, like now, I'm not able to dream of her. I know she cheats on me. O, I know where she goes, and I know who he is, or rather, who they are since there's more than one. Most guy spiders talk too damn much. I can't lie, it makes me jealous, but who am I to talk (smile). I don't hold her natural spider desires against her because I know she's mine and they can never make her feel the way I do. Her and I share something that's greater, special, and lasting. Something that feels pure.
though we haven't met and are not together, in our dreamworld we are emotionally involved and invested in an extremely unique relationship that arouses jealousy when one of us "cheats". When my Black Widow is around and in the midst of one of my dreams, I only want her, to be faithful and loyal to her. Even when she's not around, but other female spiders are, thinking of my Black Widow makes me not want to mess around with them because I feel bad when I cheat on her, especially if it's one of her spider spy friends.
The problem is it's harder for me to resist temptation when she's not around and I'm not able to dream of her. There are some seductive, sexy spiders, who know my tendencies and who go out of their way to enter into my dreams. As a sexually passionate man with 21 years of cell-life living, I eventually give in to the temptation and cheat on my baby.
Over our many amazing dreams, as our sexual interest grew more into an emotional interest, I told myself it would be all about her. I told myself I wasn't going to allow teh seductive devices or jealousy of some crazy, insecure spider to take me away from my Black Widow or to take her away from me, but I have . . . temporarily. No matter how hard I try, I can't dream of my baby. Now this time, I feel like the one who has betrayed her. I'm sorry. I tries, baby. You have no idea how hard I tried to dream only of you.
♫♪ I miss you, I'm talking to you baby . . . I miss you ♫♪, the R&B classic by Aaron Hall is the next song I hear out on the tier. Damn, I love this song. But why this song? Why now? It's too much. I can't stop them. The flood of dream memories of my Black Widow and I makes a flood of tears fall down my face.
I glance at the clock-radio again. 8:37 pm. Our dream date is supposed to start in three minutes. I have to keep trying to dream of her.
I kiss my fingertips and extending my arm, I reach out and touch my fingers over he picture of my Black Widow that I have taped to my wall. She's wearing a white, oval-shaped mask that hides her facial features, but I know it's her. It's the same picture that I stuffed into my pocket in Part 2 to Creative Reflections. Suddenly the picture transmogrifies and comes alive. Her facial features appear and she's smiling really big. I love her smile, so beautiful. Her long hair begins to grow and flow wildly out of the picture. Moving her hand slightly, I can see her pretty nails changing and reflecting from one color to the next of the rainbow.
Damn, I miss her so much and if I could talk to my dream-woman, this is what I would tell her: No matter how long we're apart or how many days I'm not able to dream of you, I'm always thinking of you and part of you is always with me. Take care. See you soon.
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