"And I'm in love, with the girl of my dreams."
WHAT IS LOVE IS NOT THE CONSTANT TERROR OF LOSS? his childhood was lived in a mirror. mimicking back actions and patterns, singing them back so that he fits in correctly ( a puzzle piece, misshapen & jammed ) all in hope to be loved. the worst part: you love him. it’s been a long time. this is not a surprise. but he’s shoved it down for twenty something years now and he’ll keep doing it. swallow it down, thick & bitter. it leaves a rotten aftertaste but it’s nothing special. keep it down for as long as he can manage until it bubbles and spills over in the night, only seen in a cracked mirror that can never allow him his perfect his imitations.
the man you love is marrying someone else. and you can’t even bring yourself to be mad. ( you love mary-jane. maybe you love her because he loves her ) it’s impossible to be angry. to curse her name or even think of hating her for a moment. you’ve seen this story before. you just hope it doesn’t even with another funeral.
or maybe some sick part of you does. ( no matter how much it’s pushed down, you are half norman osborn and you’ll do anything to come out on top ) after gwen, you spent time on his couch— in his bed. part of him, your hands twisted & twined together; your cheek pressed against his tear-stained one. sometimes, you struggled to understand where you began & he ended on the mornings you woke up with tangled legs. you’re sharing a bed with someone who lost the love of his life & thinking about how much you want to kiss him. aren’t you just a fucking terrible person!
“ yeah? when should i expect to see a wedding invite then? you better put a ring on her before someone else does, dude. ”
( the other worst part: you’d rather fucking kill yourself then go )
