The long cobblestone path through the wooded park echoes with the clacks your footsteps make as your shoes strike the weathered stone with every absentminded step. You move so freely under the dim light of the setting sun, the red-gold rays illuminating you with a glow that matches that fierce, beautiful strength that lies behind your dark eyes.

Step after step after step, you make your way down the path, delightfully unaware of what it is that follows you. Who it is that follows you. Would you be afraid if I were to step out from behind the cover of the trees? If I were to call out your beautiful name and meet your startled gaze with a ravenous grin? Oh, the look in your eyes! It would be so delicious... but I can't satiate my hunger yet. No, not yet. I'm playing a game, a waiting game, and it's much too soon to dig into your flesh.

As you walk – and as I follow – your lips hum a quiet tune, your hands swinging carelessly at your sides. Then, so subtly that I barely notice it, a small piece of paper flutters from your jacket pocket, jostled by the movement of your hands. I long to follow you all the way to your house, to watch you fumble with your keys for a moment before finally unlocking your front door with a quiet sigh, but the prospect of touching something that your perfect hands have touched – god. It's too wonderful of an opportunity to pass up.

So I pause. I wait. I stand very still, the trees hiding my presence, my heart aching so desperately as you walk farther and farther down the path. As soon as your figure disappears from my view, I pounce. I leap from the trees, dash to the paper, pick it up as if it's a fragile heirloom and cradle it in my hands as if it's a poor wounded animal. It's only a small piece of paper, folded into quarters, but I can feel your touch radiating off of it, as strong and bright as the burning sun. Oh-so-delicately, I unfold the paper, then let my eyes skim across the words:

To manifest a stalker or to manifest someone to stalk... that is the question.

I don't want much from you, my darling – just to hold your hand, gaze into your pretty eyes, and keep you inside my chest in place of my heart for the rest of this eternity 🤍

I'm in the mood to write poetry but I don't have a muse 💔

Did I do it? I might have finally broken free of my attachment to him. I still adore him, but it feels more normal now. It feels less like my heart trying to claw out of my chest and more like a gentle excitement when I see him. It's almost the same as when I see my other close friends.