back then, when i was eight, nine or ten i wrote a letter to superman to ask him for his skills. but it feels like i am still chasing wind mills, i am still chasing windmills. i fought them so long now i know that i can do everything they let me do. why can i not be the hero of my life? affection was what i was waiting for. because nothing cools the wounds of self-doubt like compassion does. i can not deny that i have been traumatized an now i let him rest inside. the hero of my life, as i found him in my sight.
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