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.