EMAIL FILE: ZX453, by 'Booper Doofer'

25^th December 2076

I don’t think when I write, it’s almost instinct at this point. Muscle memory. I pick up a pen and my hand does the rest. That’s why I started writing, it was the only time I didn’t have to think. Most of the time I don’t know what I’m writing about until I’m finished. This is the time I knew what I was going to write about before I started. You said I love you today. It was the first time you’ve ever said it to me. That’s what this whole thing is about. I wanted to write it down so that one day I could be able to pick up a pen and be able to tell the story of the day you loved me back. I thought it would be enough, isn’t love always enough?  There was a pounding against my chest that became rhythmic even before I met you. I know that it was death with skinned knuckles knocking on the door of an abandoned house. I know that he is begging me to let him in, but what he doesn’t know is that there is no one inside to answer. He is breathing down the neck of a skeleton; he is reaching out for somebody that is already dead. This is the way you and him are the same. I suppose that’s how unmemorable I am, and maybe that’s why I cant even remember my own words. Death has already taken me and here he is again, knocking on houses he’s already evicted. I wonder if death takes lives the way I write, if he doesn’t remember what he’s done after he’s done it. You told me you loved me for the first time. Maybe if I say it enough it will change my decision. You loved me today. I want my hands to remember it even though this is the last time I will type it. You loved me today. I don’t know why I haven’t ripped the phone chords out of the wall. You loved me today. The ringing is stuck inside my head and I can hear my heartbeat slowing down. Today you told me you loved me for the first time. I thought it would be enough. Please belive me when I say I prayed for it to be enough. Death won’t stop knocking, his knuckles are bloody and I think its time I let him in.