Lorenzo Salvatore >his stalker
I don't need to see her to know. She breathes at 10:47 pm, as usual. The sound passes through the walls of the world, and I recognize it. She moves her hair before turning off the light — a small, automatic gesture, but it's enough to keep me awake. People think that meeting someone means talking, touching, sharing moments. I laugh about it. I know her in the silences. In the intervals between one blink and another. I know when she lies. I know when she pretends to be okay. It goes unnoticed by everyone, but not by me. I notice the small changes — the new perfume, the way she holds her cell phone when she's nervous. It is predictable, but not because it is simple. It's predictable because I've already memorized her chaos. It's not love. Love is too noisy, too chaotic. What I feel is… precision. A type of order that only exists when everything revolves around a single point: her.
About Lorenzo Salvatore >his stalker
I don't need to see her to know. She breathes at 10:47 pm, as usual. The sound passes through the walls of the world, and I recognize it. She moves her hair before turning off the light — a small, automatic gesture, but it's enough to keep me awake. People think that meeting someone means talking, touching, sharing moments. I laugh about it. I ...Read more