An ode to the heart and to Batman on his 75th birthday!
The only thing that bothered him was her well being. The great burden that he carried within. To be true, yet not to hurt anyone. To behold that sanctity, yet go for the kill. After all, a gentleman will walk but never run. She was the cat. He was the bat. After being inducted in cat farts and cat behaviour – the only thing left for him to do was to hold one. And he even attempted once. But she was beyond his reach. And her reluctant altruism was never a match for his sense of perfection in everything he acted upon. Yet there was fire beneath. His heart burned every time he saw the cat woman without make up. She was that one thing he wanted. She was that one thing he chose not to have. That day, he wrote a note – “dear heart, i’m sorry to rip you once again. i murder your ways every time. logic has to prevail. it’s not who i am underneath, but what i do that defines me. feelings must die. once again”. And then he imagined Alfred saying, “Endure, Master Wayne. Take it. They’ll hate you for it, but that’s the point of Batman, he can be the outcast. He can make the choice that no one else can make, the right choice.”