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I look at this kid and hoped he was like me. If he could feel me he would look and I would know he was like me. I walked pasted him and didn’t look. I was tired of let downs.



I knew what we looked like although I wasn’t sure who “we” were. I could feel it some time’s too. Sometimes I could look into the eyes of some one I suspected to be like me, some times I could smell it in their blood if they had a cut, and sometimes I had to touch them. Occasionally… most of the time they weren’t but every once in a while just every few times I found one.



I got over my fears two seconds two late he was out of my line of sight and I would have to walk past him again. I watched as his eyes fallowed me and watched as I walked past him. This time I casually brushed up against him. I stopped walking and so did he.



“I know you” he said



“No I don’t think you do.”



“Yes I do. Your going through it aren’t you.”



I don’t think I replied or I no longer remembered what I said. He was the first to ever talk to me to notice what I was and to acknowledge that we both knew.



His name was Crow I never knew him by anything other than that and for the two years I was happy. The shadows stayed away from me and I no longer thought I was alone or more so a freak. But then came the time when he left me.



I’ve never had the luck to find someone else like him so I’ve settles for less. I’ve settled for people who thought my condition was a gimmick something I just said or pretended was wrong with me and for the longest time I tried to hide it, the thought that I was different from others or even crazy maybe begin to be nothing more than a painful thought to me. I wanted to be like everyone else. I was tired of being the kid in the dark. And for a time I denied myself the truth. I ignored the feeling I had along with my wants. But it never really did go away. I never really stopped feeling the way I did. In fact the more I wanted it to go away the stronger it got. And the stronger it got the more I seemed to remember the times when the pain wasn’t so deep, when it wasn’t so real.



I knew there had to be others like me. I had found them once. I had found him once. I knew that I had been fighting the current, my own life force I was choosing to stop writing my own story.



It was then when I realized that I could no longer hide that I came to terms with everything I was. Even if no one thought I was real, that did not mean my existence was not.



I know we are real.

That means so am i.