I drove through town until I parked down the street from a particular brick building I knew all too well, though I had only been inside once. I made sure to position my car behind a tree so I wasn’t immediately visible. It wasn’t that late, but I noticed that the lights in the apartment on the third floor was out.

Feeling brave, I grabbed the chalk and walked down the street and stopped in front of the steps that led inside. Dropping to my knees I dumped out the chalk and grabbed the color I needed and started making long, harsh strokes. It was hard to see, not the best environment to draw. But I didn’t need to see what I was doing. My hands didn’t need light to know what they were creating.

I didn’t know how long I was out there. It could have been hours or it could have been only minutes. People walked by, some stopped to watch me, others asking what I was doing. I ignored them.

When I was finished, I sat back on my haunches and squinted in the darkness at the final product. It was hard to see, but what I could make out, i was pleased with. My knees ached from kneeling on the hard concrete; my hands covered in chalk dust. It was caked under my nails. My jeans were streaked with it.

I gathered the chalk that i had left and put it back into the container. It wasn’t my normal medium, but I had to admit that it was easier to work with. I just hoped it didn’t rain before morning. I took on e final look up at the darkened apartment and wondered if she would understand what I was trying to say.

Who was I kidding? She had always understood me better than I understood myself.

The picture wasn’t much. But in this crazy, fucked up world I found myself in, it was the only way I could get her to see me. And right now that was something.