This morning I opened the curtains to find a bloody hand print from the outside of the window. I live on the third floor.
The internet has made stalking so easy. As I sit within the bushes outside her window, I realize I am engaged in a lost art.
Silhouetted by the silvery moonlight, he was tall and wore a long overcoat. What he was doing staring up at me as I watched from my high bedroom window, I did not know.