Dear Security Guard.

Dear Security Guard at a moderately high rise of a building in Center City, Philadelphia,

Your consistently slow-to-smile, sleepy-eyed shrug as I walk through your front door at 5:15AM gym-bound, has become a welcome part of my morning routine.  In the last four months you have seen me enter and exit your building on at least 90 separate occasions and we have exchanged only eye contact.  I respect this about us.  We offer no pretense and accept no frills. You think nothing of my repeated, caffeine-deprived attempts to use the incorrect set of elevators and only mildly nudge me in the appropriate direction with a tilt of your head and a flighty wave of the hand and I, in turn, relish the silence that your rubber-soled shoes leave as they stomp back to your desk after such an encounter.

Thank you for understanding that sometimes it's a little too much in the morning for me to wipe residual black mascara out from under my eyes, change out of my pajamas at home rather than at the gym, take off my stripy socks that don't match my running shoes or otherwise brush my tangled head before slapping on a knit hat in the winter. 

Thank you for holding the door open for me the first time I attempted crutches and for skipping the quizzical bullshit the next day when I showed up without them. 

Thank you for only feigning recognition at the person that leaves your building a few hours after I arrive; with straighter hair, clothes that match, shoes that click on the marble floor and makeup that doesn't look like I slept in it and an entirely different attitude, I would like to think I don't resemble that 5:15AM girl at all. 

Thank you, once again, for the mouth-full-of-PB&J-"Goodbye" I get as I walk out of your door each day. 

This is, perhaps, one of the most honest relationships I have.  You, dear security guard, were made for me.