I shift my gaze up from the cracked sidewalk to meet the gaze of the man with the guitar. His dark chocolate brown eyes trailing over my face, and body, as if reading into my soul. I nod in response to his question, glancing back down to the ground, watching the crisp autumn leaves swirl around my feet.
"I thought so" he replied, returning his gaze to his guitar, plucking the strings in a soft melody. I turn my back and begin to walk down the sidewalk, my feet creating a melody of their own, my heart creating the beat.
It was true, I was differnt. Maybe it was my beet red hair that implied I was different. Maybe he could tell by that array of freckles that danced across my face. Perhaps it was the way I walk, cautiously. As though avoiding stepping on shards of shattered glass. Which, I suppose in some ways, I was.