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I veer to the mailboxes watching the figure turn red

Looking ahead, they’re

Looking back

Are you following me?

Startled, plastic bags filled with food in hand

glasses broken, undone hair, covered expression.

I’m trying to cross the street.

Scoff of disbelief, hair flip

I walk quickly away afraid of the other eyes

Watching as I scramble away.

Did it look like I was following?

I was walking fast,

I just needed to get to my car, 

I do look ragged,

They didn’t believe me

Have I ever done this to someone else?

Not with words but with furtive gazes

When they just were walking or crossing the street. 

Key is in the imagination 

Let’s just eat my food.

Eleanor Davis

Chapel Hill '21

I am a UNC-CH senior and a writer for HerCampus
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