When we collided,
the pieces of you and me
flooded the ground
we stood on in a way
that left us in awe,
in a way that left us both
so equally

In a way that
left us wondering
how we would tell apart
those beautifully
similar parts.

But you;

my noble savior.

You, with that cape on your back;
you picked all the pieces
off the floor and built me
up in parts of me and you,
brick by brick,
you completed me,
you broke your damn back until
you made me whole,
until I overflowed,
until there was excess,
until you stood there
a mere half,
looking at the you and the me,
inside me,
realizing I’d become taller
than you remembered
and that there
was a certain bitterness,
a strange sense of
loss that comes with
being the hero.

But don’t you know, my sweet?

Heroes don’t live here.
And heroes change their minds.
And heroes can break you
all over again,
just by falling apart before your eyes.


One thought on “Hero

  1. There is a reason for being a hero, and being with one is a tougher choice than being with anyone else.

    Because there is much sacrifice involved.

    And those who choose to be with heroes know how to pick themselves up.

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