She wants a Hero

She knows I can’t fly, but it won’t stop her from looking at me like I was superman. Those big dazzling sparkling eyes,betraying deep affection. And she looks away, maybe because she knows I can see the vulnerability in them. but I think it’s not the fact that she feels vulnerable,no. not at all. maybe it’s the fact that I have that effect on her and she can’t help it. Maybe she actually does think am a hero. She knows what heroes are like. She has spent her night curled up in the covers,flipping page after page of adventure with these characters she has come to know only too well. And am jealous, jealous that she knew the thrill of other men, heroes who brought down tyrants. And on her sofa she sat,reading the tales of Santiago, a shepherd boy who goes in search of treasure in a land he has only seen in his dreams. And i am gutted, gutted that the bar is set so high. That unlike Santiago, I know not where my treasure lies. And i wonder, can our story stand this test? In her pages she has opened the scrolls and they have spoken to her of the weaknesses of men, the brave faces they have to put up,their schemes and unending nightmares. Yet also she has known the heroes, those who stare at adversity and triumph in its face. Of men who grab the tiger by its little balls, and squeeze it to surrender. And she knows that sometimes the greatest of men are brought down by the least of things. I can never threaten her with loneliness for she knows how to combat it, her mind a never ending industry always running up and down. She molds and creates her own characters whom she gives life and kills as she wishes. Her brain is an arena, an audience of mad men chanting for some action. And the christian is thrown in the middle of the ring. The bear is unleashed,frothing at the mouth in hunger and greed. And she looks upon him knowing that only she has the power to spare him the misery of a painful death. Yet he will never be a martyr until he dies for what he believes in. And that’s who she is. She knows the heat of the furnace and what it means to be exposed to it. Like those three Hebrew boys, she knows how not to bow down to dogma and the axioms of the bullish crowd. Yes, she know to stand for herself. I need not boast of my strength to her, she has seen them all. The adonis who graces the cover of her cheap novel. she never wanted to read it, she knows the story too well,boy meets heartbroken girl they fall in love and make love half of the tale, but she had nothing else to read. And so she was introduced to him, and he has captivated her with his grotesque phallus that has caused his victims to throw away all inhibition. Maids falling at his feet, worshiping the ground he strides upon. Alas! He doth not walk, he strides. That cocky bastard full of airs. But my woman, she knows his tricks, his lies and half truths that he employs and that makes her a lesser target of a conniving mind. Or so i want to think! And so am confronted with the reality, no, the consequences of my choice,her. For the effort employed to treat her to a 3 course meal or a cappuccino at that cafe with a display window, behind which folks smile at each other,the look of happiness or maybe it’s the sweet jazz floating in the air,aaaaaaaah. Yes at that place, am afraid that it may not rock her world, because in her books and in her mind, she has been to the best of the best. In restaurants with hanging chandeliers and portraits of words, telling a story, the thing she loves. She has slept on Egyptian cotton and the silk of the royals. She has dived in the clear sea and beheld the fish in their beauty. She has eaten from the palms of the chefs. Does she see the weakness in my eyes and ignore it? Does she look away because she is afraid I will know she knows? Does she mock me in her dreams? Does she pity me in her journal? Have her books taught her to wish for better men than me, who ride horses draped with majestic colors? But see the quandary I find my manly self in when she says she loves me. It’s a language I hear but I cannot understand it, for deep down i know that I have not deserved that love. I have not earned it. I need to earn it, its the only way I will receive it. She knows my thoughts and she reminds me, though subtle, that if i had to earn it,it would just be a job and i would dread every Monday morning but in contrasting exuberance begin to countdown to the weekend. She holds my hand on the street. She hides behind me when she’s scared. She holds my hand as we cross the street. She gets angry and walks away and she never once looks back to know whether i will follow. She is a defiant one that one. But she knows i will follow. She dreams with me, in her journal she writes our tales. She beholds my unshaved rugged visage it bothers her but she knows that in my own time, it will be shaved. She picks a fight over every spelling error,she demands for the best. She sees me but sees no Achilles who will bring his enemies to ruin nor an Alexander the great, a young man driven by resolve to conquer the world. She sees no Napoleon Bonaparte, a general among men. I am no king, I have no castle, no handmaidens to attend to me, no musicians to sing my praises. I have no great horse to mount and gallop off into victory. In all this time all I knew was that she needed a hero. She knew them by name, she knew they would save a city. And some of them could fly and hold an entire bus in their hands. Why then would she want me, a mere mortal draped in doubts and disbelief? Scarred by choices of life. Pillaged by those who swore to fall with me. Spat upon by life, draggin along his luggage. It is not a hero she wants. It is a hand to reach across the table and hold hers. It is a hug that won”t let go. It is a kiss thjat lingers, tingling on her tongue and exciting her buds because she has seen heroes come and go. It is a dreamer she wants, who will lie with her and together they create a perfect world for each other. It is a man who knows the pain of losing that she wants, so he may never want to lose her. It is  a man who has struggled to earn his right in life, who can only appreciate the power of a free gift of love. It is an imperfect man she wants, who will appreciate that life is a journey, a place where daily we strive for a higher call. It is not an incredible hulk she wants, bulging in muscles to protect her but she wants a man who will stand up for her, take her side, confront her enemy. she wants to feel safe. She wants a man she can share her lofty desires with, who appreciates the beauty of thought and the greatness in simplicity. She wants a man who dreams of more, better, bigger, simpler. A man who is willing to make today work so that tomorrow is secure and instead of an almighty schlong she wants a man sho will love her in her vulnerability, love her nakedness. Who will find warmth in her company and even then, remind her she is a queen. Not because she forgets, but rather because no one says it better than him. She wants a man who will stay, for when she closes her book, her heroes are buried in the darkness of those pages, until the next time. She knows my thoughts are afar and she pinches my nose startling me back to reality. I smile, because now I understand. And as we leave and take a walk in the night of the city that sleepeth not, her hand in mine and her laughter ringing in my ears, I wonder, has she found him in me?