I Know

He sat outside the apartments—the smell of the polish was always upsetting in the enclosed environment of his room—rubbing the leather of his shoes. He was looking down, his bony shoulders poking through under his shirt the same way they poked through is emaciated skin. Tired, he swooned slightly, pressing his forehead into the cold iron of the gate. Taking a few long breaths, he held back the tears of his life. A voice broke his remembrances.

“There’s a place for you if you’re willing to come.”

“I know,” he said.

“Your mother’s there.”

“I know,” he croaked nearly sobbing, “but my vision—there is something I must do here before I go.”

“I know,” the voice replied. Then leaning down, the agent kissed the head of the artist. “I’m sorry.”


  1. Polish it once, and I will cry twice. [Just upgraded phone, but if I can find your old number I’ll call ya, assuming you haven’t changed it.]


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.