I am sitting on a bench outside an office building. I am aware that something has changed. I am worried.
I am not sure why this one was different. It began exactly like the others, as curiosity, as a game. I am following someone and they don’t even know they are being followed. They don’t know me. I could be anyone. I could be a killer. They are oblivious.
It’s OK though because it’s just a game. My imagination walking away with me. It’s OK because as long as they are on my route then I am not really following them. Or they are not being followed. One or the other. I used to enjoy the distinction. I would debate myself over the reality of my actions when the impact on the subject was zero. Did anything actually happen to them? The followee. The philosophy was part of the game. As long as they were on my route.
At some point today there was a divergence and I did not even notice.
It was not when I chose her. She was anyone, like they always were. It was not when I passed the street that I work on and did not take it. It had already happened by the. It was somewhere in between and it happened without my knowing.
It is an hour after I first started following her and I know I am not going to go to work today. I am watching the revolving front door of a tall glass building. It feels like I am waiting.
I stand up and walk away from the bench and from the building. I look ahead. I am not sure where I am. I am looking for how I got here. The way back.
I realise that I am crying. I don’t yet know what for.