The hero by my window

When I was little,

the window was a battlefield of light,

streetlights turned into stars,

and the world moved fast enough

for a hero to keep up with me.

He ran beside the car,

jumping fences made of shadows,

leaping over mailboxes and trees,

never tired, never late.

Just fast enough to stay in my dreams.

I didn’t know his name back then—

only that he was brave,

and that somehow,

he was mine.

But years sped up faster than the road.

The glass became just glass.

The lights became just lights.

The hero fell behind.

Homework replaced wonder.

Gravity got heavier.

And somewhere between growing up

and trying to survive,

he disappeared.

I thought imagination had abandoned me.

I thought the running had ended.

But now—

in quiet moments,

in stories I write,

in the sparks behind my eyes

when the world feels too loud—

I see him again.

Not beside the car anymore,

but inside my chest.

Still running.

Still waiting.

Still asking me to follow.