[sylvanSpider]

April set the laptop out for him to type on while she read through his journal. He could see her irises moving back and forth raking in the words that he at one point poured over. Almost two hundred years later, someone was getting to know him through his written works. It was amazing to think about, though some of what she would read would be highly personal. April would see into his daily life, even inheriting mundane knowledge like what he'd had for breakfast the morning of May twenty-third. He'd documented everything.

Benjamin found himself blushing once more, not entirely sure how to respond. April was a very handsome woman and if she was always as kind (and forward) as she was treating him this instant he would have considered instantly becoming one of her suitors. He wrote down you're very kind. while she was reading. This one took him a little longer as he could feel himself getting weaker, getting less and less energy to manipulate things with, but he'd noticed something in the attic. When he was sitting under the light of the window he found that it was easier. The keys pressed more readily in the sunlight. Once the words were typed he moved to the window for a moment until she spoke again, producing his picture.

Again, he had no idea how to respond, so he responded with a question: boy next door/. He couldn't figure out how to put down a question mark, but he hoped that by seeing that the question and the / were on the same key that she'd understand. He couldn't help but laugh as he continued what about steven/.

Benjamin watched as she unfolded the letter and typed out, it's alright. she's gone now. If he would have been able to type more, he would have told her that she was old enough to be her great great grandmother and almost certainly forgot about him within a month of his death. But that was life, wasn't it? While you were there, you were remembered. After that, your name, your face, it disappears gradually with time. He still thought about her often, as one is wont to do with nothing but time on one's hands. He wondered how long it took her until she finally decided to find another suitor, if she had children, what those children looked like. To comfort himself, he would tell himself that she moved on relatively easily. That she was once caught in the throes of young love and was heartbroken for a little bit. That she found someone new. Someone better. Someone who treated her as well as, or better, than he did. Someone who would look at her like she had the stars and all of the galaxies spinning behind those blue eyes and shining smile.

No, she like himself, was dead now. But hopefully, she wasn't trapped.