The sky is dark grey over North 7th Street. From across the street, I gaze into the raindrops running down the red brick wall. The stark white door was left open and it now swings in the wind. I find myself floating to the entrance without hesitation, entering a warmly lit room. Almost immediately I am hit with an entirely new kind of sadness. I wonder where I am.
My mind is with a man. A man who changed artistry entirely with nothing but words brought to life by despair. I feel gratitude and sorrow, as this was a man who gave out everything he had. The floor creaks and depresses, with every step I take. Water droplets descend from the dying ceiling, leaving moisture in the vacant room. I feel him with me, through hopeless sentiment and desire. If only I could’ve met him, to understand him. That is something I would wish for.