A boy, a little boy who lived on the second floor in his parent’s house stood near his room window during a cold winter watching a seed that slept alone outside while it watched the little boy stare back. The seed lay still on the cold grass in front of the boy’s window waiting for someone, wanting someone for deed without a list to give. The boy felt the hurt and the boy was trained to protect nothing out of his four by four rooms so, the boy did what he could only do. Stare. The wind spoke so fast and the night hurt with pain and nothing less. The seed had to watch everything else around him blossom up into perfection and yet it stood there with nothing but him. The boy grew a heart towards the seed within time and felt stuck in a little maze called reality. A reality he lived in, a reality where rules didn’t make him grow, one that didn’t make him love others or himself. The boy lived beside that window during that cold winter watching that seed stare back with fear. They both became a sabre glued into a stone waiting for the hero to save them and show them off to the world. The wait became the clock and the pain became every gun shot. A life with the door wide open and a gun on standby, they pretended to laugh and enjoy but they wished they could have felt and loved. They wished they could erase the pain without telling the world who they were, two different worlds and yet one world and so close.