That Very Time I Saw Don Quixote
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.
