Had it not begun to pour, I would never have seen it.
Strangely, it's only visible at certain angles. Just a red brick wall then one thick black letter at a time appears and spells out a sentence of beautiful, wrenching lament.
It's been there a long time.
It stole my breath a bit. Touched me immediately, deeply.
Who is this person who wrote this?
What brand of heartache compelled him (her?) to write his sadness in such a way?
Was it a release, of sorts, to let it out to the world....to tell the story of just how much he was bleeding?
Or was it a solitary act, in the shadows, under a bridge, to quietly dispel his very last thought of her? And then walk away.
I wish i knew who wrote this. I want the story so much.
A heroic romantic, if nothing else.
Stirring, perhaps, for those who see it, something held tightly, sadly, regretfully, lovingly.
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