#181

I—

I was never born to love letters.
I hate long reads.
Truly.

But it's the thrill of adventures that—
made me fall in love with poetry.

That ecstasy you feel
when the right memory just clicks
with the right word,
or perhaps the rightest melody.

The goosebumps are real,
the tingling sensation that erupts
from the tips of our skin to our forehead.
It feels as if our whole body is lucid,
fully aware, fully awake.

But—

I had always gone on adventures
without stories to recount or recall.

I once lived all the heroic epics inside my head.
At least, back then, I was the hero—
not some foreign, otherworldly, dimensional creature
that audiences the main protagonist.

Back then—
I am.

Along with the heroes I can call my friends.

With my aloof mind,
I rarely wonder where they are—

except for the young hero,
who is me,
no more.

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