A face.

Everyonce in a while i'll catch a glimpse of a man starring back at me. He just sits their, as if locked in a trance. Why does he never smile at me? Why does he always look forlorn, melancholic? Was it his childhood? Did he perchance suffer through it, his childish things and his childish ways pushed aside and put away under the strain of an unfostering environment? Perhaps he was scarred in love, and that wound transferred over to all things HE is. What does he want when he looks at me? What does he expect? I am no god, yet he stares only at me, as if i was the only thing that made his existence validated. Dear god, i hope i don't look the same way to him. But we sit their, starring at each other,noting the facial features of each other, not truly seeing them, but noting some familiarity, as if the other's visage should mean something to the other... Why?

We are strangers he and I, yet day after day we catch sight of each other, usually in passing, but at other times prolonged. Doesn't matter the time of day, or the duration of our passing glances, he always looks the same. Never does surprise register on his face, neither sadness nor joy. Just a blank look, as if nothing matters to him. Why? He should care for something, should interest him self in something other than me. God knows i'm not the answer to any prayers he speaks at night, i know, above any else, that i shouldn't be the messiah to another's cause. But their he is, his face expectant, though resigned. Almost as if he hopes i will do something, lash out against the world for him, save him somehow. But i am no God. I am hardly human.

Seeing him, day after day, time after time, has actually taken a toll on me. Each time i become a slight bit less caring for him, a little less interested in him at all really. But still he stares. Perhaps one day i shall do something, do something that shall cause his gaze to turn away. Perhaps i shall embaress him to the point where he simply stops looking at me, refuses my existence wholly. Or perhaps i shall do the opposite, perhaps my actions will bring a witted grin to his face, a knowing smile that tells me "i knew all along man." but probably not. No, im pretty sure that if i were to live another hundred years i would still his face, perhaps a little blurred though, as my sight goes. And that even through those hundred years his gaze shall not change. Perhaps lines may dot his face, the bags 'neath his eyes grow weary, tired of waiting for me, but unable to do anything else. I AM NOT HIS GOD!! WHY must he gaze so at me?

I've asked him to stop, hundreds, probably a thousand times. I've asked him to go on, to move along, to leave me be. But no, his gaze is unmoving, his effort determined... "GET LOST! FUCK OFF!" I scream from my chair as i see him across the apartment. Why is he here anyway? He doesn't pay the rent, doesn't do anything that i see, other than see me. What is he doing when i don't see him i wonder, but i can not tell, for almost immediately when i think of him, he is their, peering at me with that listless gaze. Others can see him, i know that. But its as if he doesn't see them, at least i've never seen him remove his gaze from me for even a millisecond, not even to notice someone walking in the door. I am always the first to look away, and the last to look back. It's a game to him, i know it...

I wish he would die sometimes. Violence isn't my way, but perhaps something unfortunate would simply relieve me of his incessant stare. If only. He probably looks both ways, twice, when crossing the street; takes careful determination to chew his food when he eats, drives like a grandmother, all so he never chances losing the enjoyment, the perverse pleasure he draws from being able to gaze upon me. Fuck Him.. Does he even walk the streets? eat? or drive? Hell, i wouldn't even know. The bastard is always their just looking at me, does he have time? When does he sleep? When i sleep? Most likely not, because i've seen him before, 3 am as i walk towards the bathroom to take a piss, standing their, looking back at me with that same GOD DAMNED unmoving, uncaring, melancholic look on his face... Fuck...

I've had enough of his voyeurism... I'll smash every damned mirror in my car, break every damn one in my apartment... That'll stop him, but i know it wont.. When i use the restroom in public, he'll still be their. When i go out to eat, i'll catch sight of him as i pass the buffet... WITH THAT SAME GOD DAMNED LOOK ON HIS FACE!!! WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH HIM!!!

...

Fuck...