I don’t rush the choosing

That’s where amateurs slip

They chase a pulse—

I study the rhythm beneath it

There’s a difference

Between wanting…

And knowing

You cross the street without thinking twice

Keys between fingers, a half-formed vice

Phone screen glow paints your face in blue

You think it hides you—I see straight through

Routine is louder than anything said

Every small habit maps out your head

The way you pause at the corner light

You always check left… but never right

I walk behind like a passing thought

Not someone you’d ever say you saw

Just another shape in a moving frame

No weight, no edge, no face, no name

You call it safety—

I call it pattern

You call it distance—

I call it matter

Every breath you take in stride

I’ve already counted twice

I pick you out like a flaw in glass

A quiet crack no one else would catch

You’re not special—you’re just aligned

With the space I’ve already designed

No anger, no need to prove

Just a shape I decide to remove

And when you finally feel me there—

It’s already too late to care

You laugh too loud when you’re on the phone

Fill up silence you can’t own

You tell your friends you hate the dark

But leave your curtains half a mark

Second floor, front-facing room

Light leaks out like a shallow wound

You pace in circles when you think

Little habits that never sink

There’s comfort in repetition

You wrap yourself in it tight

But repetition builds prediction—

And prediction kills surprise

You trust the lock

You trust the door

You trust the world

To stay before

But I don’t knock

(I don’t knock)

I don’t announce

(I don’t—don’t—)

I move between

What you discount

I pick you out like a flaw in glass

A quiet crack no one else would catch

You’re not chosen—you just exist

At the edge of a tightening fist

No rage burning in my chest

Just the calm of a finished test

And when your breath forgets its air—

I’m already somewhere else—

not there

There’s a moment—

Right before it breaks

Where everything is… aware

Not fear—

Not yet

Just…

Recognition

Like your body understands

Before your mind can argue

You turn—

(breath)

—but not fast enough

You almost say something

That’s the part I like

Not random

Not chance

Not impulse

Calculated

Measured—

Advance

Step—pause—step

Breath—hold—press

You were never missed

You were never—

missed

Faces blur but patterns stay

I archive everything away

Your voice—your stride—

the way you stand—

—way you stand—way you stand—

All reduced to something planned

You think monsters rage and scream

Break apart at every seam

But rage is loud—

and easy tracked

I prefer—

the quiet act

There’s no thrill in sloppy ends

No glory in the means you bend

Precision is the only art

Knowing where to place the start

—and where—

to end

I pick you out like a flaw in glass

A silent break beneath the mask

You’re not cursed—you just align

With the edge of a steady mind

No story left to rearrange

No meaning buried in the change

Just absence shaped exactly right—

A missing piece that fits the night

I don’t remember faces

Only structure

Only—

what made sense