He is the one who inspires me. I am the only one who notices him. One fragile boy with a broken smile and a jagged nose like a beak. One who does not fit in. One gentle child afraid of the rest. From my window I can see him, watching as he gets lost among the noise.

He longs to be seen. His head spinning with thoughts but not a whisper is spoken. He wanders back and wanders forth staring at the passing traffic, wishing to be taken far away. This is how he exists.

Should he forget his reason for being, he would become lost amid the dark and sadness, never to be seen again. Exist, exist, exist he echoes in his head. He cries.

When I am too lost and somber to keep existing, when I am among the darkness and shadows, I look through the glass to the boy. When there is no light that shines through, even a small glitter. One who resides despite the obscurity. One who stands brave among the weak. One whose hope remains.