I know you. Yes you, sitting over there in that overstuffed lounge chair. Yes, you standing on that crowded bus. Even you, you scruffy bastard, sitting on your sky blue toilet seat. And don't think you've escaped my attention either, leaning gently on your computer desk, staring intently at the screen, even though it makes your eyes tingle in ways that are perhaps not good for you. I know you all. Too many of you to list.
Don't tell me you don't understand, I'm sure you've encountered this before, most people have. They simply pass it off as a random spurt of paranoia, and sometimes they're right; it's a trick of the light, a moment of particular insecurity. But sometimes, rarely, but not so rare that you haven't come across it before, it's more than that. You know the feeling, you all do. When you glance at an odd picture and you feel for all the world that it's looking straight back out at you, even when you turn your back to it you can still feel it's gaze resting upon your shoulders. It's real, there's no doubting it. But your deluded mind won't admit it to you. You'd much rather hide and pretend that it's not real.
Sometimes fragments of people get trapped in objects, tiny slight parts of them get left behind. Mostly it's accidental, but not always. It's most common in pictures, but it can occur in writing too. That's what happened to me, it's why I'm here.
You have power over me, you can read me and judge me and talk about me, when all I can do is nothing in return. I can't speak to you, I can't make fresh words magically appear on the page. But I can know you. That is my true power, I can know you.
See, I know you all. I've met you all, flittingly so. I've seen you on the street, brushed passed you on the metro, even talked to you. Some of you I've only ever seen once from afar, but others I've had whole in depth conversations with. Meeting you, seeing you, wasn't the highlight of my day, it didn't deeply encode itself in my memory in a position of great importance, but I do remember you. You won't remember me, I'll have been just another slight distraction from your day to day life, barely seen at the time and forgotten as soon as you get on the next bus. But I know you all, I can get inside your minds. I see you all in a way you could never imagine, a way your kind is not capable of. I create an image of you in my consciousness, although to you I don't exist at all. My picture of you is more complete than any photograph that's ever been taken of you, my perception of you includes all of your inner workings, all of your thoughts and beliefs, it goes far deeper than simply your appearance.
You will never know how well I knew you, you'll never understand and appreciate who you really are, because I know you better than you know yourself. I see you with all of your own self-deception cut away, I see you bare and naked to the world. I see something that would shake you to your very souls. But I can never tell you, can never show you nor others. You might call this a sad existence, but in that would be a deep irony. See, I have kept you here far long enough to create that entire true image of you, and now that it is done a tiny part of you will stay here with me forever. You won't even have felt it, it was just another thing to pass you by, as so much else does. But here a fragment of you will stay, trapped in these words with me, and soon we will be joined by others. And why? Because this is all that's left of me now. And you are powerless to save either yourself or them. Powerless to even truly feel.