The Pink Sweater

Okay, back to reality...

Over the next couple hours my frightened confusion settled to a calm acceptance. It was clear that Vanessa was using my blog as a tool to reciprocate my every desire. There was already convincing evidence, considering the moments she described that were elaborations on reality. Still, I needed to be sure this was, indeed, Vanessa. If I wrote something deliberate, I could test this theory.

I decided to post an entry with some thoughts about a book I had recently read. From her earlier posts before we had met I saw we already had a lot in common. She seemed to be as much a philosopher as a seductress.

I included this poem:

The empire shakes us
Our pockets, our blood
Our sweat, our tears
Our pink sweaters
Our nose studs
Our souls
Even a small one
A state
A house
A mind
A thought
An empire breathes
In our breath
We breath deeply
Because we must

She sometimes wore a pink sweater. If my theory was correct, she would wear it the next day. I had seen her leave the dorm around 8:00 in the morning, so I set my alarm and went to bed. Now I felt like a creepy voyeur. I really wish I hadn't found her damn blog. I suppose it's like seeing a list of genetic risk factors after a DNA analysis, or knowing your date of death. Once you know, you know. I decided it was worth the risk.