I'm sorry, Bruce... I-I can't do this anymore. I can't keep coming home to an empty bed while you spend your nights chasing after someone else.
You barely even touch me anymore. I hear you, sometimes. You say his name in your sleep. You dream about him. Every time you look at me I see it in your eyes. You're disappointed, aren't you? Because I'm not him. I'm not as complex, as unpredictable, as dangerous as him.
You look at me, but all you see is him. His green hair and the way it slides through your fingers. His bright green eyes, and the wrinkles he gets in the side of them when he smiles. His lips, bloody and red and fitting against yours.
Him. It's him. It's always him. It's not me, it's you. Right? Yes. There is something wrong. With you.
Something is very wrong if out of all the people in the world you choose him. Even though you could have anyone, you fall in love with him.
I should be mad at you but somehow I can’t. I'm... sorry for you. You'd rather be miserable with him than be happy with me.
It's Sup Forums's Baneposting, and we can have it all to ourselves
David Gutierrez
>you will never squeeze John's fat ass >you will never make him feel self conscious about it yet pleased that he has some quality you find attractive to the point where he obsesses over it >you will never coerce him into filthy disgusting anal sex where you raw him until he's an incoherent shaky mess
