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I walked across the room towards the table. I could feel his eyes on me, even as he typed. Wss he writing about me. Was he writing about us? About our fights and passions? About our love making? Who is he speaking to, why?
Maybe he is not writing about me at all. He watches me to make sure I am not looking, that I cannot see. Does he watch out of guilt?
Has he said anything about me here? I know he comes here to read and write. To assoziate.
What does it mean to be somebody's inspiration? What can you do with that power? What do the words they write about do to you?
Will I be followed as I walk through here, looking for answers?
Help me please.
Help me find myself
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