Something I wrote in jail

 I wrote this shortly after getting sentenced. I like to fancy myself as a halfway decent writer, but when I'm being honest, I realize I am not all that great. However this is something I'm actually pretty proud to call my own. If you read this, and if you like it, please comment below. I love all my readers and am interested in people's thoughts. 

A Leaping Ladybug
When I was in jail, I had a dream where I was once again close to somebody I had loved. And so intensely did I love her that it was as if we had transcended to another level of existence. In fact, we had.
We were there, in that new world, when a man came into our room. He told us that he had something he wanted to show a songbird, but that most of all, it was me who ought to pay very close attention.
He then led us to a vineyard. One like those I used to walk through back in Sonoma. One where I could eat grapes freely and forget that I was me for a little while. It felt like how I imagine a home would feel.
The man spoke of how he used to like sitting out there. The fresh heat, a taste of clean air, the sweet hum of a bug's song. These things brought to him a great comfort. Though his greatest comfort of all were those times when he got to watch a ladybug crawl up his arm. He’d let them tickle him all the way up to the tip of his finger. And from there, he’d watch them leap.
The comfort, he explained, came from the feeling of liberation he’d experience every time he saw them fly. Seeing their release brought him so much closer to his own. Back then, he had had the time to imagine things. Just little fantasies, like his fingers being blades of grass; his body the root that connected him to all of the Earth.
"Organic," said he as he laughed in a whisper.
I saw him smile then and I realized he was beautiful. The man was radiant in his raw authenticity. I knew then what honesty expressed from one man to another looked like. He told us, my love and I, that in that vineyard he had almost felt real.
Then I watched his smile wilt along with the dying vineyard that surrounded us. You see, things changed, and the man grew old. And as he did, he said that he traded in his dreams for a sense of assurance and a chance at stability. However, he has since learned that the only assurance life grants a man is that nothing is ever truly assured, and stability only lasts a moment in the winds of time.
It is for these reasons that faith in oneself is so important.
He says that now, as he ages, he sees more and more with each passing day that the trade was never worth it. He often wonders, "What if? What if I had been brave?" Though to this he’ll never have an answer. It is a regret that weighs heavy on his soul.
He told us that he has never again been happy in such a way as he was on those sunny days when he had felt real. Those days long since past when his dreams were more than mere fantasy, but ambition, and he was as free as a leaping ladybug.