I used to dream.

Well, everyone did-- lucid, vivid dreams. That's probably normal if you're a child.

But what about me? I'm already seventeen when these weird reveries started. 

Usually, I dreamt of people I didn't even know; a lady on a staircase, being together while reading a book with an unknown guy beside me, vampiric shadows, princes in the tower, words like "We don't have to move anymore. We can live... we can." Even though these were just dreams... I can feel that I have a certain connection to them.

I feel good. I felt at home with them. 

Emotions were passing through my mind. I always wonder what did all of these things were about. I started telling this to my relatives. They did listen to me but I doubt they even give a damn about it because... I'm an illegitimate child. You got the picture already? My father was long dead and my mom? I didn't even know where she was.

But what's weird is... when I tell other people about my dreams, they stop appearing. 
At some point of time, I want those visions to arise again.

I crave for them.

Soon, I just stopped talking to people.

To the point that I start to dislike them. 
Just for these realistic dreams to appear... 

I became anti-social.