Well, hello again.

Today I've noticed you're dressed a little differently.

Your black cargo pants have been replaced with baggy jeans.

Your hoodie, that's been replaced by a fitted velvet jacket and you're wearing dress shoes.

You're trying to make an impression. But to who?

I know you wear black to seem dark and mysterious, but you're no goth. You seek out the light in life, and find the element of water comforting.

You wear black try to keep up the appearance of being a troubled soul because of the line of work you're in... But you're really not.

See I know everything about you.

You're 6 foot 1.

Your eye colour changes depending on the lighting. Sometimes they appear grey, green, blue and Hazel.

Your birthday is in April, which means you're an Aries.

Your favourite colour is black but also red.

You own a collie mix dog from a shelter, she was previously named Taco. But you called her Gracie. After your gran.

You have a collection of cars, all ranging in price. Although you don't drive them as often as you've made people think. Your assistant drives.

You're allergic to red food colouring. It brings you out in zits.

You hate snakes.

You have 7 tattoos in total. Because you count the number 11 on your arm as a separate tattoo.

You own a museum, which is of course being extended, given its popularity.

You own a home on a private community. It's a beautiful home, I know, I've been there. You think I've been here all day waiting for you to show at the museum? Oh no. I had to see where else you go.

I wouldn't have thought you'd own a home like that. It didn't seem to be your taste, but I saw you there one night. Making food in the kitchen, your hair was a little chaotic and I place that down to being the shower you had taken.

You didn't see me, stood on the other side of the glass watching as you cut up peppers, you didn't see me as you tossed down the knife and clutched at your finger having just sliced into it.

You were less than three feet away, when you ran your finger under the tap muttering to yourself. Just a pane of glass separated us.

Right now, I'm watching you smile, but it's not a genuine one. You only reserve them for people you like being around. Your friends, your family. This one is forced.

You love fans and customers at your museum, but you're also a terrible germaphobe. You trying to avoid hands and groups as you make your way inside.

I've been inside your museum, I had to. To try and understand your mind, seeing your collection made me realise that we have something in common.

We are curious people.

The museum has too many cameras for me, I like to keep a low profile, so whilst the tour guide told the group about torture, I counted cameras and felt for pockets of air, because I know there's secret tunnels and doors around this building.

Your taste in women is.... Questionable.

You have a type, that much I have noticed. Too much skin, too little clothing. Which is how I'm able to come so close and yet remain so invisible to you.

I don't blame you for your ignorance, because I know everything about you and you haven't met me.

Yet.....