old superhero things.
I used to write letters to the Man of Steel and wear a superman t-shirt under my everyday clothes. I would pray to the stars above that one day I'd get a cape and sail through space with ungodly control of my perfectly gelled hair. I would help people and beat up bad guys and win awards while walking through New York City without a single tip that I was the man of the hour, savior of the century. And sure, I'd get steam-rolled if kryptonite was a matinee feature or if some day, facial recognition exposed Clark Kent, but I'd always get the girl and I'd always save the day.
Then, I grew up and I wondered how he didn't grey. How he didn't seem to nurse his muscles back to health every night or beg for a day or a year off. How it must have been exhausting when the girls sort of understood and the guys didn't get it. How Superman must have been lonely and Clark Kent lonelier. How reading the comics might have helped clarify this, but how little time I had to invest in his character arc when I didn't even have time to make a premier.
Times have changed. I don't pray for capes because I get my wisdom from Edna Mode and I refuse to gell my hair for fear of its flamboyance and flammability. I'm still into girls and I still hope for awards with treasured anonymity. I accept that kyrptonite gets us all good and that technology is just far too advanced. And, still, I sometimes write letters to the Man of Steel but I don't ever ask for advice- I just inflate his ego a bit and iron flat that old t-shirt while I reminisce old superhero things.