Dear diary,

He is here.  

My hands are shaking, I wish it were the cold in my apartment. Behind me the glasses clink on the shelf, the knocking is deafening and the stench of decaying flesh seems to burn its way into my nose.

I don't dare reach out to him or address him. He just stands there, his gaze fixed on the void. 

My heart races. My mind cannot grasp, cannot comprehend that he is here. My fingertips have stroked the blank canvas countless times, as if touching the rough surface makes it more real. 

Have I gone crazy? A hallucination due to lack of sleep and stress? Is my brain playing tricks on me because I've tortured it too much with the portrait? 

I don't know how to put my feelings into words.... How to write about the incomprehensible, about what cannot be true? 

All I know is that it is there, at least for me. Something is wrong, maybe I'm still asleep, maybe I forgot that I drank the rest of the wine bottle yesterday. 

I can't think, this noise, this stench.... I have to get out of here!