The Watcher

January 12, 2009
He watches her every day, mainly through his telescope. His apartment is a shrine to her, filled with pictures from newspaper clippings, daily logs of her every move and file cabinets overflowing with videos of her. She speaks to him every Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday, reporting the daily news, smiling at him. He sets his VCR to capture her beauty; a beauty he will never have.

He calls his obsession admiration, allowing her to consume his soul. She knows she’s being watched. Sitting in the seat in front of her on the subway, he hides behind his oversized glasses and unkempt beard. Unknowingly, she glides against him as she makes her way off the crowded car. He comes apart like the newspaper he cut.

One unforgettably cold night, his hands extend, causing her black pea coat to fall to the unforgiving ground. As his glasses smash into little pieces, her shriek breaks with equal sharpness. With nothing between them, he captures her beauty.

It is his, all his.

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