I don't know when it started, but I could always see memories of a different place. A place were flying things carried people, I think they were called planes, buildings that could reach the sky, machines and guns made for war.
My parents always said that I had a big imagination, that things I dreamed about didn't exist, but I didn't believe them after all they couldn't see them like I do. So I just stopped talking about them.
People always said that I was a weird child, because I never played with other children. Then they asked me why? I always answered the same. ''Because I don't believe I should''. They never understood what I meant.
They called me smart because I understood things better than most children, because I spoke better than most my age. They didn't know that I could only do it because off my dreams.
My parents started to believe that I am what people call a genius. Then they told me that, I don't know why, but that night I dreamed about a sad boy with grey hair, whose father committed suicide. The next day I tell my parents that I am not a genius. They want to tell otherwise, but keep the words to themselves. I only realize later that they also don't want to believe that.
People who knew me also started to believe that I am a genius. Then I say otherwise, they call me shy. I stopped correcting them. After all it's not my fault they believe that.