The beauty of life can be seen in numerous ways of minor moments and perspectives. Our mind is an art on itself, creating beautiful words and letting us drift into new, wonderful worlds we have never seen before. — Books let us see things our minds can't even comprehend. Words have never lost on importance through all the years in which we, humans, entered this planet and made it to the place it is now. Beautiful, with various of energy and happiness floating through the thin air and filling every part of our bodies with a rush of life.

But, we humans, also make massive mistakes. We destroyed, we killed and we teared families apart, only to satisfy our own desires and pleasures. We, human beings, are selfish. We lust over inconceivable things and forget the real beauty of life in the process. We're selfish and decide to follow our desires instead of doing the right things, and this certain selfishness will be our end. The money is going to consume us and tear us from the reality we live in. Why do we give a piece of paper so much power? Why are we killing for a piece of paper? – Because we can't get enough. Power awakes something inside of us. This something starts to cover us like a second skin, possessing our souls and ripping us from all the beauty of life.

But this is just a small part of this story— it's actually about me and this very special, certain person, who showed me what life is about. He is the one who painted my colorless life in every possible color, making me smile for the very first time and didn't only make me feel happiness, but also love.

Love. Oh, what a wonderful feeling. If I would have only felt it before. If I would have known how amazing this certain feeling could be.. My life could have been so different, all the pain. All the anxiety didn't have to be there in the first place, it could have been avoided, but sadly that's not how life works.

Pain needs to be felt. We all have our own paths of anxiety and tears, we all have our stories and these certain stories make us to who we are. They form our personalities and create the person we are behind all the invisible facades and lies. We, we pretend to be someone else and hide our true selves in the deepest of our souls, somewhere where not even light can't reach us, chaining us to a place, which is darker than the night.

Caught in a pitch darkness and secluded from every possible human being. That's how I've been all my life, trying to run away from social interactions, in order to hide myself in my thoughts. But this changed in one particular year.


 

January 21th,

Comics. A world painted in a million of different colors and shades, fiery reds kissing baby blues and vanishing in a colorful purple. Perfect. The place where heroes are born and raised, where they experience amazing adventures, and follow their true destiny – saving people. I've always been dreaming to be one of those heroes, hiding behind a costume and swinging from houses to houses like Spiderman, oxygen filling my lungs and providing me with a rush of life.

But unfortunately this isn't how life works. In reality, I'm nothing more than me this 'strange' boy, who has never uttered a single word in his entire life before. The doctors didn't diagnose me with autism, clarifying that my seclusion was probably a mental problem rather than something considering my physical health. I've seen a lot of psychologists during this particular time, but I had already mastered how to block out people with my 10 years, the psychologists' words continuously entering my head but somehow didn't seem to reach my mind.

Just me and my non-existing world, where my life is painted in colors, where I'm the hero, a world where I'm the one who makes the rules.

My own perfect world, in which I hide myself in the grave I've dug myself, blending out every stripe of light trying to reach me to welcome the state of seclusion. Life is too painful, there are no colors. Everything I see is black and white and everything I feel is a heap of nothing. Just a spiral of materialism and corruption.

I'm only 15 year old, born on October 30th, 2002, I've changed 6 school during this time and learned how to block out everything resolving around me, in order to be one with my thoughts. But still I know more than some adults. I prefer to live in a world I've created myself, but I'm still able to see people's real faces with just one look. I can see how rotten they are in reality, I can see behind their masks.

— And that's exactly why I'm avoiding them, that's exactly why our eyes never meet. 

 

It's another one of those days when I'm sitting on a bank in the fresh air, my eyes chained to one of those comics my parents have bought me a while ago. A scoff plays on my lip as the thought of my parents rushes through my mind. It's not like they don't love me, they're just trying to gain my love by showering me with things instead of doing something with me for once. A cold breeze runs through my skin, covering it with goosebumps.

My parents. I drift my eyes from the comic to the paper airplane which swings in the thin air, the soft breeze making it fly through the wind to the lake on the other side of the street. When was the last time they've been at home? I bite my lips, watching how the paper airplane continues its way towards the rigid wall of my neighbors house-wall before sinking onto the stony, with dirt covered, ground. Probably a week.

Disappointment showers my body and suddenly I can relate to this dirty, creased piece of paper on the ground. I feel lonely, lonely and broken. Every time I remove the film over my orbs all I see is darkness, all the colors vanishing before my very eyes, leaving me behind in a colorless world.
 

I'm the paper airplane, trying to escape the ground by drifting into other worlds and feeling the oxygen running through me, causing my entire body to feel weightless. But this moment doesn't hold on forever, in one single second everything can be shattered like glass. This moment of weightlessness is fragile, all the happiness,the weightless feeling can be replaced with loneliness in just milliseconds.

"Jeno!"An explosion of a voice suddenly drains my eardrums, pulling me into the black and white in a killing pace. "Come in here! It's cold outside." I stare at the ground for a moment of silence, focusing my brown pair of eyes on the dirt covered on the asphalt,the breath leaving my lips heavily and the cold breeze wrapping its coldness around my body. No, this is fine. — I like coldness.

"You'll catch a cold if you don't come in." As if you care. My aunt's voices stops after that, silence covering the air again and my eyes finding their way back to the comic in my hand, gliding them through the colorful pages of pure adventures and happiness.

Would people love me if I would be a hero? — They would for sure envy me.

The coldness increases but all I can focus on are the well drawn pictures on every single pages. To me they are so much more than pictures, to me they're my escape, my escape into alternative universes.

The portal to my very own world.

"Jeno! I won't repeat myself! Come in! NOW!" A piercing voice echoes through my mind, pulling me back into reality once more. All I need is a few hours for myself, that's all I'm asking for. 

Why can no one understand it?

All I want is to spend some time in my thoughts—I want to be happy.

I close my eyes deeply, the comic clenched in my hold tightly. I feel out of place here, as if I this just a dream and the real world is waiting for me somewhere out there, as if I just have to pinch myself to wake up, but unfortu