Thank you.

Hi it's me coming here at the end. So, a little addendum. This isn't really a journal. It's actually a long text message sent to my other main character. But yeah what are we thinking chat?

If you get this message after I send it, which knowing the workaholic you are, you never get off of your phone, I just want to say that I am so excited to meet you, I could jump past your fence and run to your window, but not yet.

I can see you now.

Closer still I got and knew that you had to be mine. How I long to close the distance and speak to you, through endless pangs of yearning and sorrow. Not yet, but soon, my darling. We will be together, finally.

In the shower, when through the lens gradually, tragically obfuscated by steam, you wash your perfect body of the filth of this world. Each recorded frame I've collected instills in me pleasure, though also immense pain, as my fingers graze the cold screen through my imagination of your soft warmth.

My heart squeezed at the thought that it would be yours even after it stopped, from inside the cage of my chest. Then again as my wheels turned from the lot. Not yet.

I would die to have your hands inside of me, though I could never witness your ethereal shining gloves, as you pull from me red-handed the raw evidence of my passion.

I only got a glimpse of it once, but the sight caused a fire to course unforgettably through my blood, an angel haloed by sterile light. All at once I envied those who have crossed your table.

At your job, where they wheel in the inanimate remnants of those very fortunate souls who have wound up under your care after they met their end, for you to pick them apart and parse out how and why.

You were asking a monumental amount from me then, to unlatch my fingers from the raglan edge of your pit, to bolt in a fury as headlights cut through the slits in the blinds of your darkened room.

Which takes mountainous self control, a sense I have developed and honed to a sharp edge of deprivation, but enough about myself. Your scent filled my nose and flooded my brain like downing Everclear. Pure and absolute, almost, a distillation of your skin.

I thought about stealing it for my collection, but regrettably, I felt at that point in our relationship it would risk getting too close. We will be close, more than you could hope for, my love. More than you realize we have already been, but not yet.

I brought it to my nose, on another visit to your room while you were away, before you took it and you tragically washed your scent away from the bedraggled fabric.

Only this time it's a candid shot. I'll treasure it as I do with all of the others I have of you, my love, as I inched closer into your periphery. In the Laundromat, you really ought to throw out that green shirt with pinholes.

Just enough to be graced with a peek inside of your world. It's funny how our relationship started out as your photograph on your profile, and now when you jolt with the flash that flits through your blinds like lighting, it ends with another picture of you.

You know me, but you don't know how closely I have gotten to see both. At first, it was only with the hope that I could get a glimpse of you in your bed, through the blinds that I've maneuvered just a tiny bit while you were away.

Your smile is pretty, a bleached mouth impossibly bright, but anyone with eyes can see the unnatural gleam doesn't reflect your eyes. You aren't even there, as much of a stand in for reality in the flesh as you are in a photograph.