I went weeks without seeing her and it drove me fucking insane. I thought about her day in and day out. Every morning I would start by looking at her picture in the car accident article. It was somewhat of a family portrait. Marie was standing behind her and Ben was beside her. She was sitting, feet and hands crossed, like a polite young woman. Her mother's hand rested calmly on her shoulder. This was the image that stayed on my mind throughout my day. When I thought of her, I pictured this younger version of Harper.

After I had followed her home from the liquor store, I was reeling with excitement. All I wanted to do when I got home was write down every single detail so that I wouldn't forget it. What she was wearing. What she was doing. What she was drinking. What she was watching on TV. What her apartment looked like from the driver's seat of my car. Having it written down, in a tangible form, made it real. Absolutely real.

When I'd finished reading the article for the millionth time, I would go over the notes in my journal and relive every moment. I would play it back in my head like a play. Harper was the leading role, of course, and I her prince charming. I would rescue her from the evil dragon, from people that were only in her life to hurt her. People like Rowan Wilde. And it would end "happily ever after", with Harper and I riding off into the sunset. The vile dragon was slain by me and we lived in peace for the rest of eternity.

I hate to admit how childish these fictional plays were. When I first started stalking her, I used whatever means I could to supplement my Harper fix. Now, of course, I've upgraded to actual photos and video footage of her. There's no longer any need to dream up scenarios in my head. No. I have an entire collection of memorabilia to view at my own free will. Although, nothing compares to seeing her in person, in the flesh. Nothing compares to smelling the scent of her body wash right after she gets out of the shower. Nothing compares to touching the laptop that she pours her energy into when she works. And nothing compares to hearing the angelic sound of her honeyed voice.

But it took me a long time and a lot of work to get to where I am now. I've spent countless nights, perched outside Harper's apartment, like a vulture waiting for some helpless animal to die. I've gone through notebook after notebook, filling it with valuable information about her. I can confidently say that I know more about her than she knows about herself. I know her likes and dislikes. Wine and brussel sprouts. I know the ins and outs of her personality. She's very kind but gets annoyed easily. I know everything that the internet and her phone conversations have to offer about her family. Marie and Charles are doing fine. Ben and Olivia are trying to have kids. The only thing that I don't really know about her is why she's here, in Washington.

She never talks about why she made the move from Ithaca to Bellevue. She never talks about her past or the car accident or any of her ex boyfriends. A part of me wants to believe that she's never dated anyone, but how could that be true? She's everything. And I know what you're thinking. Why not just work up the courage to ask her out myself? Maybe she'll like me for who I am. But there's no way that a woman like her could ever love someone like me. I know in my heart that I'm not good enough for her. I am infinitely imperfect and Harper's just the opposite. She's perfect in every way.

But there is one thing that I must make perfectly clear. I'm definitely not good enough for her and if I'm not, then no one is.