poppysmiic

I went right next to him.
Are you Thomas? I asked.
He shook his head no.
You are, I said. I know you are.
He shook his head no.
From Dresden.
He opened his right hand, which had NO tattooed on it.
I remember you. I used to watch you kiss my sister.
He took out a little book and wrote, I don't speak. I'm sorry.
That made me cry. He wiped away my tears. But he did not admit to being who he was. He never did.