Armchair Stalker

A bit of an experiment today, still a work in progress. not sure I've got it quite right. Would love to hear your views. 
For audio click here

Do you ever get the feeling you’re being stalked? That someone is following your every move; watching you through the window when you get up in the morning; hanging around outside your office when you arrive, when you go out for lunch, when you set off for home. Do you ever think that someone is listening to your phone calls or is watching your keystrokes? When you hear someone whisper good night just as you fall asleep do you jump awake, switch the light on, check under the bed? Does your hair stand on end, goosepimples appear on your arms, shivers down your spine for no reason? Is there a constant sense of terror? The problem is, there’s no evidence. There is no one in the street when you leave your house, there’re no clicks on the line, massive bouquets are not delivered to your door. There are no love letters in your mail, no monster in your wardrobe or beast beneath the bed. But the feeling remains; there’s someone, something out there.

That’ll be me.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve been your armchair stalker. I’ve watched you in the shower and followed you down the lane. I’ve seen you naked in your window and from the shadows whispered your name.  Only I haven’t. I’ve thought about it. The problem is I’m too damn lazy to get out off my sofa and put my thoughts into action.

So I imagine you in your PJs, and picture you going to work. (You look nice in that outfit by the way; it suits you.) I follow you in the shadows of my mind. I whispering sweet nothings and let it carry on the wind. I browse the pages of Amazon and Interflora thinking of presents to buy, but never adding things to the basket. (I’m sure you’d love that teddy bear.) I compose letter after letter detailing exactly what I would do to you if my love wasn’t cruelly unrequited. But I never put pen to paper or finger to key, I never press print, let alone add the stamp. I can’t be bothered. I’m your armchair stalker.  

Next time you get that shiver. Next time you feel like someone is walking over your grave. Next time you’re sure there’s someone hiding in the gloom or peaking into your room. Don’t worry, I’m too lazy to bring you any harm.