In 2000, I started a life sentence at New Jersey State Prison, in Trenton. Over roughly 25 years behind bars, I have learned to love. Yes, that’s right. I went to prison and got soft.

To express love in prison usually is taken as a sign that someone is weak. Or, at minimum, they are exposing weakness. That is why most people succumb to the hardness and coldness of incarceration. 

But that is not the case for all of us. Some of us become soft. 

To know your heart is a virtue. To be emotional and feel sensations that are soul-opening means you are still connected to life and not merely waiting on death. It’s a strength.

For many of us, a feeling of incompleteness contributed to our incarceration. That incompleteness led to a hopelessness that skewed our judgment and became a slow-acting poison that gave us an “I don’t care” mentality, the result of which was doing something we would regret.

Before prison, my life epitomized this hopelessness. My mother abandoned me for a man, then I lived with my abusive father only to be abandoned by him next. I was also discarded by others in my family who promised to help. 

I was at times homeless, living in a broken-down Pontiac 6000 sedan and shoplifting food so I didn’t starve. Sometimes I ate out of restaurant dumpsters. Out of desperation, I tried to rob someone. I botched the robbery and killed them in the process.

Being sent to prison’s demeaning and degrading culture seemed normal to me. It was just like any other day of the week. 

In this same prison, though, I realized I was always less than half a person. This revelation made me ask myself, “What is missing?” 

The answer, it turns out, was love. Since then, the floodgates have opened.

Now, I find love everywhere. After I got locked up, I found and met my sister, who was only an infant when I was arrested. When she first realized I was her big brother, she lit up with joy and I melted like an ice pop on a 110-degree day. She was young, and could barely talk, but she would make imaginary cupcakes and pretend to hand them to me through the glass window during her prison visits. We have been deeply bonded ever since. 

When she got big enough that we could have contact visits, she would always run to me and launch herself in the air so I could catch her. Everyone in the visiting area would laugh and go “aww!” I have credited her with saving my life, even though she doesn’t know it. 

To love in prison is to wish for a fruitful existence. The focus of this love can be anything that would inspire good and motivate you to stay out of prison. It does not have to be grounded in a person or an object. It can be a place of serenity, the taste of a particular food, perhaps even the feeling of triumph in completing a task or a job that you love. 

When life gets loud and cluttered, I access certain memories to center myself. I used to walk for miles to this beautiful gazebo in the town of Island Heights, New Jersey. At night, as the river flowed beneath it, I felt the river’s power. It brought calmness to my mind and spirit. I’ve gone there many times in my mind since I’ve been in prison.

Personal achievement also makes me feel proud and love myself. I’ve obtained my high school diploma behind bars, been nominated as a valedictorian and obtained my associate degree with a 4.0 GPA. I will find these feelings again when I complete my bachelor’s degree later this year. 

During my sentence, I have also become more appreciative of old loves. I have always loved the beach—the waves crashing, the scent of the salty air. But now, I cherish memories of the beach more because I’m denied access to it. Thinking of the beach is even more special when I daydream about having those whom I genuinely love with me there. The beach has become a place I can travel to in my daydreams and smile as if the sun is shining down on my face. It gives me a goal, a place to return to. 

Love is why people in prison yearn so badly for photographs. Photos are a way that those of us who live in depravity can make connections to things outside of ourselves and our environments. Photos are a balm against the monotony of prison life, which is devoid of most nice things.

Love is the angel on our shoulder. If we are in tune with love, then our actions cannot blare sour notes and ruin our life’s songs. We must sing in harmony with love and let the sounds carry along affection and care. If we don’t, then we will never escape our prisons, whether we are behind bars or not. To love makes all the difference between going home and living, or going home and merely existing.