[ Mumbling, ] It was more because I was driving myself up a wall thinking about you. You've no idea the self-control it took me that whole week before the hotel, after I knew.

[ Which is when the final revision of this had been finished. Gregor settles in as well, propped on pillows, and after a final hesitation relinquishes the journal to him. Unlike before, it's now titled in the header. It reads:

sun-blinded

Distance is an inadequate measure for closeness,
for the space between breaths.
Sometimes we are farther apart than stars,
as far from each other as we are
from ourselves, here where all that defines us
can only be seen as reflections in each other.
You see me so clearly, yet you have missed
that there is longing in all of my fingers,
in my lips, in my soul, to be closer than breath.

You have missed so much of yourself, too,
eclipsed it with your intensity, sun-bright.
I want to trace every scar
the webbing across your skin
and outline a new color, limned in silver,
until you see what you've discarded.
All those worthless excised bits,
I want them all,
I want you.
I want to peel the dagger from your hands and
kiss every luminescent knuckle.
You own my adoration as the sun owns life:
it emanates from you. ]