His eyes are upon me again, I can feel it. Sometimes he’s a tall looming silhouette on the path behind me when I walk at night, or a whisper in the wind outside my window. Other nights, he’s the noises coming from the darkness between the trees, or the warm sticky breath upon my neck while I sleep. But he’s always those eyes; piercing and dark, with such depth and hunger.
He’s been following me for so long, awake and sleeping, that my body can register his closeness before my eyes see him. His presence, although frightening, has become familiar. There has always been that grip of fear in my core, the electricity down my spine, but now there’s something else as well.
His eyes feel like a weight or a blanket; covering, hiding, and comforting me. But sometimes it feels like the warm sun on your face after being in the cold. Sometimes it’s easier to sleep knowing I’m not alone, even if he’s always out of reach. And his eyes, only ever watching and never daring to touch.
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