Close behind; Something there is gone when I turn. Still, it is there, can feel its eyes picking carefully at my clothing. Each step I take, it does too. Each time I stop, the silence is frightening. Afraid to run, somehow, I know it's faster, so I walk on. Then, a sound I hadn't heard before crawls up my spine, breathing, louder than mine. My heart is pounding now, mind whirling in panic. What did it want? Does it know me? Then, a hand on my shoulder, I freeze in horror. A familiar voice laughing, says, honey, you forgot your jacket.
"A poem to me is the essence of any thought, Being built from its foundation into tower scraping sky. It can fly like no other bird to places never seen, Even spaceships can only dream of taking its place."