Heroes can be drawn on paper, and given life on celluloid. They can be larger than life, wield earth shaking powers. Be created to awe us and put light in our fantasies. Then there are those who create heroes… who write the words they say, and work with others to breathe life into our dreams.
For all the world like some mythological gods, creating universes beyond the ken of mankind. And one of those has just passed on. A figure that might, or might not, have been the main creator of the marvel universe, but who himself grew to be larger than even the fantastic lives of his creations. And he filled much of my own life with wonder and (yes) fed my dreams.
With the passing of Stan Lee, my real and dream worlds have become suddenly poorer… my power to embrace the fantastic a bit less enduring. He was the man. The one. And now he is gone, and there’s one less bright star smiling down on us tonight.