If I got a penny every time something weird happened to me, I’d have… not a lot.

But enough to start writing it down.

It started with someone sending me photos of myself.
Photos I never took.

At first, I thought it was nothing.
A coincidence. Bad timing. Maybe I just wasn’t paying attention.

But then it kept happening.

Same places. Different times.
Always just far enough that it could still be called a coincidence.

I tried to ignore it. That worked for a while.

It didn’t stay that way.

These aren’t stories. They’re just things that happened.
Things I didn’t think mattered at the time.

I’m probably overreacting.

There’s probably no connection.

It’s probably nothing.