you.

it started all because of you. her partner, the eye of the hurricane, the eye of her personal tornado, the sun on her bright blue skies, the cherry on top of her plain vanilla ice cream.

she met the you that you oh so put up as. the ideal you. the loving you. the sweet, understanding you. the fake you. the lying you, and the happy you. it's all about you, but it's still you.

there's nothing simple when somebody gets stuck in your mind, she knows that and she learned that the hard way. you're obsessive, and she doesn't even care if you really slept with marianne. don't even know what to do if you're obsessed with that woman. or love her, or need her, or wants her, or even kill her.

she doesn't know if you even love her. doesn't know if you just don't want to be alone. is she just good for your ego? does she make you feel better about your miserable life, but you didn't love her?

her blood boils with ballistic rage. her lungs strangling in indescribable jealousy. her eyes cries, so helplessly that she could be the most pathetic woman she ever know right now. so far from the woman you met, from the love that asked you about that peach.

trembling from head to toe, taking a step forward after another, "what, you hate hearing the truth?" love spat back, bitter and enraged, and most of all, heartbroken, "our marriage is completely one sided!"

the good, the bad, the cruel, and the violent. she loves you, all of you. love is blind is what they say.

and she is.