For weeks I was convinced that I was being stalked. I would turn around after hearing those nearing footsteps but would never encounter anyone.

I tried to ignore it for some time; though it would not rid itself of me.

One night, certain that I was being trailed, I recounted my steps and began to search through the nearest bush. Nobody. Nothing. But there was that rush, that maybe I was near this person. I observed the park for a little while and it was completely empty.

I can't quite explain what happened when I entered that bush, but something certainly changed. I was enticed to search it the next night, and the one after that. Its leaves and branches took me in, fed me a certain warmth. On the fourth night I turned my head and saw the person I had been looking for. He assured me that he had been there the entire time, tucked away, waiting for me.

I can't tell you how long we spent there together. But he was nowhere near as strange as I had expected. The sun rose and fell and I was still inside this thick bush with him.

It's been five days now; I've survived on whatever scraps are leftover on the pavement, scooping them out when nobody is around. The two of us wait for footsteps. Someone coming. Then, well, you know–three is a crowd, eh?