one of my favorite journal entries i just found in its tattered pages

i've given names to the strangers in the apartment building across the way. i wonder what would happen if we met on the streets, if we ran into each other in the grocery store. i wonder if i would recognize them but i know they would not know me. i have the common sense to close my blinds, to wander through my apartment in the dark, to peer at them through the slits.
there is the old couple, one floor above me and to the left. i have named them midge and joe because they remind me of an old couple i used to visit but who have now died. they are grey, late 60s maybe, or 70s. every night they walk around after dinner without their shirts on, cleaning dishes, watching the news together. they act like a much younger couple, leaning in to kiss one another, playfully smacking each other and laughing, disappearing into hidden rooms.
one floor below them is the dark haired man in his late 20s. i call him mikey, i don't have a reason why. he is gone for work most of the day, and when he comes home he is always alone. his living room is covered in movie posters. i can tell that he always listens to music because of how he moves jerkily, side to side, twisting his head with eyes sealed tight while he wanders through his rooms. one night when i couldn't sleep, i went to the kitchen for a glass of water and noticed that mikey was still up, bent over with his head almost touching his knees. his body was shaking and i think he was crying, but for what, i will never know.
they seem so close, like i could reach over and touch them, or maybe open my window and call to them, tell them what i think, read this to them. i wonder if people see me no matter how i hide, look in my window and tell their friends about the things i do. i wonder what they notice, how my life would look peering in through a window from across the street.