You ever listen to an echo of your own voice? It’s you, a few seconds ago.
Your breath, your vocal chords, your thought behind it. Not like a recording, since it’s gone almost as soon as you hear it.
Your imprint, a shadow self.
It started when I heard my echo in the pedestrian tunnel.
I started counting things, keeping tallies.
This many mailboxes. This many sprinkler heads, telephone poles, houses with red doors.
Above all, never lose count. I consider myself lucky because I know about this.
Nothing bad will happen as long as I keep my end up.