dear this.

The little boy lay in bed, as if he had fallen in battle, and in a sense, he had. He didn’t fight in a war or even with his hands, but life took its toll on him in the way that it does every child. The world of someone as small as he can be ended in an instant. He felt like a burst water balloon, completely deflated and soaking his pillow in tears. At the sound of mom and dad shouting in the next room, he turned over in his bed, covered his ears, and slept. He fell into a deep sleep. A deep enough sleep for him not to hear the window open.

Moonlight streams in through the now unobstructed window and is shown on drawings and notes. Heroic men and women striking powerful poses with dastardly villains laying scared and defeated at their feet. Character outlines hastily written in a messy child’s handwriting. His heart, on display in every story. Larger than life stories that came alive in his little child's mind. His little mind had much bigger problems placed on it than it ever should.

A footstep fell, but he didn’t wake. One of his pens tapped on his desk, but he still didn’t wake. A cape flourished and a throat was cleared, but he slept with ease.

“What is it going to take to wake you up?” A golden voice postulated, and he sat up in bed quicker than a heartbeat, nearly screaming.

“Woah, have no fear.” The deep voice spoke again with a calming tone. The little boy tried to look at him but his eyes were still blurry. His room looked normal except someone seemed to be standing in front of his writing desk. Someone wearing skin-tight white and gold spandex, and a cape. He also seems to be glowing slightly.

“Who are you?” The boy asks as he wiped his eyes and his vision returned to reveal a stunning sight, a superhero.

“You don’t recognize me?” His voice, so golden it nearly shined.

“Uh, You’re...” The little boy manages as he tries and fails to get a grip.

“You don’t remember my name? Why you created me right here at this desk.” Says the smiling caped crusader.

“I just can’t remember it right now.” The boy says sadly.

“Rough night?” the hero asks as his smile dims.

“Yeah,” the boy says quietly, trying not to cry again.

“Hey now,” His perfect smile broadens and he takes one flying step towards his bed, “Chin up.”

The little boy doesn't say anything as the superhero sits on the edge of his bed and raises his chin with a gloved finger. A sniffle escapes his little nose but he looks at him. The hero's face seemed to have absorbed some of the pain that the little boy was feeling like a sponge.

“You know,” the hero starts, “I don’t always know what is right.”

“But you’re a hero, you know what is best.” The boy says confused.

“I might be a hero sometimes, but I am far from perfect.”

The little boy’s face scrunched in thought, “Aren’t you supposed to be perfect?”

“No one is supposed to be perfect, but we all should be good.”

“Am I good?” The little boy asks, pushing his words past the lump in his throat.

“Yes, you are a good little man and you know what?

“What?”

“I think you are the best.”

“Thank you.” The little boy says sniffling.

“Of cours-” the hero starts but is interrupted by the boy.

“For everything. For being there for me. For letting me create you and for keeping me company. For giving me a place to put my feelings and pain. For letting me feel like a hero, for letting me feel like you.”

The superhero looked at him with tears in his eyes and arms wide. The little man runs into his arms and hugs his bulletproof skin.