Notes from the Mind Palace.

I don’t want a hero for the sake of having one.
I don’t need saving, and I don’t want someone who thinks I do.
I’ve carried myself through storms that would have drowned softer hearts.
I’ve rebuilt myself more times than I care to admit.
Strength has been my armor, my identity, my survival.

But even warriors get tired.

So if I want a hero, it’s not because I need rescuing.
It’s because I want someone who understands that I can’t always be strong, even though I try so desperately to be.
Someone who sees the weight I carry without asking me to put it down alone.
Someone who doesn’t flinch when I falter.
Someone who doesn’t shrink when I rise.

A hero, to me, is not a man who stands in front of danger.
It’s a man who stands beside me.
A man who sees me — the fire, the fear, the fight, the fatigue — and doesn’t run from any of it.
A man who knows that tenderness is a kind of bravery too.

I want a hero who understands that my strength is not a challenge to overcome, but a gift to honor.
One who knows that my vulnerability is not weakness, but trust.
One who knows that loving me means holding space for both my armor and my ache.

I don’t want a hero who shines for the world.
I want a hero who shows up for me.
Quietly.
Steadily.
Without needing applause.

Because the truth is simple:
I can save myself.
I always have.
But it would be nice — just once —
to be saved without asking.