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# Confessions of a stalker
- URL: https://www.smdp.com/confessions-of-a-stalker/
- Published: 2007-12-14T16:00:00.000Z
- Updated: 2026-10-25T01:30:23.000Z
- Author: Guest Author
- Tags: Opinion, Santa Monica, #archive-import

*By Mark Marchillo Odd Man Out*

I’M A STALKER. AT LEAST THAT’S WHAT will go down. I guess there’s no other way to say it. To describe what I did. This is the madly part of being in love.

Sept. 12: I left a rose and a love note singed “T.L.” on my ex-boyfriend’s parents’ doorstep. We’ll call him Pedro. I heard nothing from Pedro at this point, didn’t expect to — there was a plan here, designed over three months. Oct. 12: a hollowed pumpkin filled with roses and the second love note, singed “T.L.” left on the doorstep. I figured by now he must get it, or at least assume. You see, the 12th was an anniversary of sorts; we met on March 12, 2004.

Thus the next. Nov. 12: 312 white daisies, and the third and final note, signed “T.L.” — for “True Love.” The finale was to be an inundation of roses … Dec. 1 — one rose. Dec. 2, two roses. Dec. 3, three, and so on. Until Wednesday, Dec. 12, when a driver would pick him up in a horse-drawn carriage, a dozen roses in hand, and deliver him to a candlelit clearing (or park. Whatever, you get the picture) leading to a heart-shaped circle. I’d have been there dressed up in a suit. And I’d say: Look, I didn’t come here to win you back, Pedro. I hope you’ll come back to me. But I’m not dumb enough to think anyone can just win you. I just wanted to let you know what you mean to me. When we were together, when it was good, you made me feel like this world, this big beautiful world was lucky to have me.

The only things worth their weight in gold in this life are the things you have to fight for. And I intend to fight for you, Pedro. Because you’re worth fighting for. So fasten your seat belt; you’re in for one heck of a life!

“Moonlight Serenade” would play. I’d ask him for this dance. And we’d hold each other and he’d remember.

But none of that happened. The 312 daisies went to his parents’ house only to find he doesn’t live there anymore. So I went on a crusade. A crusade that turned fanatical. I called information. Did a ZabaSearch online, bought a PeopleFinder report. Anything to get his address. I had to set it up. Find the clearing. Send the roses. I waited outside his work. Tail him, easy as that. He saw my truck. Disaster and two hours of waiting wasted. I tried other ways. Other schemes. I even e-mailed him outright. But nothing. Then, last resort. A Hertz rental car. Another tailing session. But I had to make sure he was still at work. I called, from my work phone. No answer. I called again. Again. And again. And I crossed the line. He called back. I was so stunned I played it off like it wasn’t me. I know. Moron. So I called him back.

Reveal. It’s me. He was angry. For calling at work, but more … for everything. I’d acted creepy trying to get this address, I admitted, and I swore to him I wasn’t stalking him. “How are you not?” he said. He was pissed about the flowers, the notes, me sitting in my car outside his work. He felt unsafe and violated the past three months. His family got creeped and the words “restraining order” came out of his mouth. I tried to explain. To defend it all. But there was nothing I could say. He was right.

And I am a fool. Romance isn’t dead, it just has a new name — stalking. And I was naïve enough to believe he would see the difference.

If I had a defense it would be that this was more than a romantic gesture. It was a campaign, if you will, to win back the heart of this boy, do something marvelous for him, and show him how I cherish who he is — the only man I’ve ever really loved. Ironically, it accomplished just the opposite. Whatever possibility for a future is gone now.

Maybe it’s a relief. A burden I’ve been carrying in my chest for over a year since he left. Where does hope go when it’s gone? I was living on that hope. Surviving by it.

My True Love. You were my knight in shining armor. I just wanted to be something to you again. I wanted to feel good about life again, myself again, and make you the happiest; my Favorite. My friend Krista said there would always be that one person you’re forever in love with, but could never have. I didn’t believe her. Didn’t believe in the whole “meant to be” cop-out that everyone falls back on when things stop working. When you believe in fairy tales and God, what’s meant to be is supposed to be the dream. The wish your heart makes.

So … I’m sorry. Even though I meant all of it. I wanted it to be beautiful. Something no one else would ever do for you; go this far, fight this hard for you. Prove to you that in the end, it would always be you and me. Always.

I wanted. So I forgot what you wanted. Worst is, now you’ll forget who I was.

This is the explanation of a stalker. For something I can never really explain.

*Originally published in the Santa Monica Daily Press print edition on December 14, 2007.* [Read the original PDF.](https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/smdp%5Fbackissues/121407.pdf?ref=smdp.com)