I Am

Have you seen those people? The ones that look as though they don't want, or deserve life? I was once one of them, accepted among their ranks, in their lives.

I had been living in a waking nightmare, my saviour came not in the form of superhero capes or supernatural feats, but in form of a homeless person. They began to speak of another world one with none of the pain that I endured. A picture of this new world formed, at times it was all that kept me alive.

We stole many things the day that we left. Over time, the stolen comforts ran out or were stolen. It was hard, but I never thought of returning, not after what I had done. Things got tough; soon I could count my ribs. We had nothing to spare, no sympathy. I now had a new pain; hunger. It gnawed at me. It wasn't the physical pain that I had once endured, but something more painful. I knew that I needed to escape this hell.

Having the guts and courage to run from your family is hard. I wasn't accepted by the homeless when I left, I was a traitor. I was lost for a long time, wandering the streets on my own.

I saw the place I had lived in, in another life. It called to me, the memories of comforts I had long ago. I had nothing to lose. As I stood waiting for someone to come to the door, fear nearly had me, but when I turned to flee, someone opened the door.

It was the person that I had once loved. They looked down upon me, and recognition flickered through their eyes, was I a beggar that had been here before? Or the one they had lost so many years ago? He looked again and again, and we stood there. He looked as if he would trade spots with me, if it meant he could find what he was looking for.

Why was the master of the house letting a strange beggar into the house? Why were they being so well looked after? They began to talk of the master's nearing death. The master had been near death for a very long time, the only thing preventing them, was the long lost love. Perhaps, it was said, the beggar that had been let in was the long lost love.

It has been a while since the day that I was let in, and since the death of the previous master of the house, who was my true saviour. I know not how long I shall be here for, or who will tend to the house once I am gone. But each time a poor beggar comes to the door, they are given a rich meal, and warm clothes. I do this because I know the worth of each meal, each blanket when living on the streets. I do this because I was once one of them.