90 days

When the time passes slowly. When I am homesick, or when the water I pour over my head is too cold. When I am unsure about the future. Of having divided my heart between countries. When I am reluctant to leave and anxious to be home for the holidays.

I think about Michael. Who has spent ninety days in prison, today. 

The what's next. The fear. No, the terror. The heartbreak. The discomfort and anger. The injustice. The blatant audacity of the entire thing. The laughing matter.

Except this isn't a joke. It's only absurd.