For a long time, I believed prison was a place where friendships couldn’t exist. Not real ones. Not the kind built on trust, challenge, and growth—the kind that change you.
Then Joshua came along. And now he’s leaving.
For years, he’s been a mentor, a collaborator, and, somehow, the kind of friend I never thought I’d find here. We built SkunkWorks together, but more than that, we built something I could hold onto in this place. The version of me that exists now owes a lot to him.
I wrote him this letter.
A Letter to Joshua
Joshua,
For a long time, I didn’t think friendships like this were possible here. But then you showed up, and now you’re leaving, and I don’t have the right words for what that means.
We built SkunkWorks together, but more than that, we built a version of this place I could survive. You saw me—really saw me—when I wasn’t sure I wanted to be seen. You called me out when I needed it, gave me space to grow, and made this place bearable.
Some of the best conversations of my life happened with you. Sometimes over nothing, sometimes over everything. The kind of conversations that shape a person.
Joshua, you’re leaving, but I’ll still hear your voice in every lesson you taught me.
And those don’t disappear just because you walk out of here.
So I won’t say goodbye. Instead, I’ll just say thank you. For proving me wrong in the best way possible.
—Kai
Some People Leave, But They Don’t Disappear
In here, people come and go. You brace yourself for it, but it still leaves a gap.
But Joshua’s impact doesn’t leave with him. The work we built stays. The lessons, the laughter, the late-night ideas—they stay too.
Sometimes life pulls people apart. But the ones who mattered leave you changed, even after they’re gone.