June 28, 2010
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I see him run out of his house. He jumps through the bus doors, and it speeds off towards school. "I'll be here when he comes back," I tell myself, andf I am. He comes home, and goes inside. He comes back out to his drivway in shorts and a muscle shirt, and starts shooting hoops. I sit in the bushes and watch him. Something about him makes me just sit here. I am silent, he never sees me. I make sure of that. After a little while he goes back inside, and his dad's car pulls up the driveway. They don't know who I am. They've never seen me, and doubt they ever will. I stay out until dark, and sit just below his window. He gets ready to turn the lights off, and I watch him walk across the room to the window. I quickly run to the street. I must take what I've been trying to tell myself for a longtime: I am a stalker. . .

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