Poems From The Heart

Previously

…I looked at the small stack of $532 accumulated cash sitting on the chipped desk. I had earned this. Every single day of pain, every managed ration, every moment spent enduring awkward silence, had culminated in this small, safe, rented box. For the first time in years, I pulled the tattered paperback from my bag. I didn't just pretend to read; I began to immerse myself. I was Elias Thorne, laborer, employee, and perhaps, soon, a tenant. The cold streets felt far away, memories receding into the grim history they belonged to. The hard work had been the price of admission back into the human race, and I had paid it.