My Superman

He wakes up alone and prepares for work.  I wonder whether he has had breakfast. Then again, he might just pick something up from the neighbourhood coffee shop on the way to the office.  He’s not a very handsome man and I choose him.  He must look smart in his corporate suit;  the tie probably a gift from his sister last Christmas.  It might not match his whole attire but it was given by his sister.  He does not have much or more accurately, doesn’t want much.  Having anything more would simply be a burden to his already busy life that has yet to reach its peak.  He likes it that way;  There has been too much recent pain; love lost, love gone. Could he have any love left to give?  Perhaps this blanket of sorrow just seems too heavy and wide that it hides a big heart few know exist.  Alone, we could cuddle, sit quietly for hours in the darkness; perhaps talk, perhaps not.

I could be the happiest person in the world with just his presence.  I am the happiest person in the world.  He does not know I read him like a book.  Let him be.  It is his time to shine while I can only wait and hope.  Now, I feel it.  Once upon a time, nothing mattered more than my own happiness even at the expense of members  of my family.  Now, I have embraced a servitude to the only people who should have mattered most in the first place.  His happiness is my happiness. I must wait.  I will wait.  Then one day,  he will write another song about happiness and perhaps about me alone though I never intend to compete with his mother.  I may not stop his tears but I want to be there to catch them when they fall, hold him in a Herculean embrace  to make even Venus jealous.   He may stand tall so that the world may not see his flaws, stand proud that he may not be doubted, stand alone that his confidence may not wane.  I wish he did not try so hard to be a perfect man.  I want him now but he waits to be a certain man.  I guess it is not enough to be my Superman.


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