#man who knew I'd end up writing a squip pov thing

[listentotheshityousay]

You’re a tragedy in the making. 

In the soft light of the morning sunshine, Michael smiles down at you, trails his fingers down your cheek and tells you how beautiful you are. He lingers in bed with you, kissing your lips, your forehead, your sleep-heavy eyelids and even the tip of your nose. He rolls you onto your back, presses you into the mattress and whispers undying love into your skin, into your open, gasping mouth. 

He makes breakfast; you do the dishes. He has errands to run, the outside world dragging him away from the small home you’ve created for yourselves, and you kiss him farewell and sigh when he leaves. 

You have your own life to tend to as well. Emails, paperwork, so on and so forth. The humdrum of daily life, not particularly exceptional but perfect all the same. 

You have Michael. You have a home with him, a life built on the same foundations as his, a love that could break this earth apart with its own gravity. It’s all you want out of your life.

It can’t last.

Michael comes back home and you two share Chinese takeout for dinner, ankles intertwined under the dining table, talking about your respective daytime happenings. You don’t tell him much about your afternoon, instead opting to listen to him talk.

After dinner, you lean against him on the couch and feel restless. There’s a vague sense of worry curling in your stomach, tension lining your shoulders, and he notices. He asks you if everything’s alright. You say yes, even though the words on your tongue taste like lies. You let him kiss you, even though the nameless dread still weighs on your shoulders. 

You’re a tragic ending waiting to be fulfilled.

He loves you so much. He doesn’t know that he can’t keep you. That you aren’t his, never will be. 

You love him. That’s an undeniable truth. But you don’t know that you can’t belong to him, that you have no choice. That very soon, you will have no choice in anything ever again.

You are Jeremy Heere, still so young and so madly in love, your life slowly slipping through your fingers, first your afternoons and soon your nights and then your friends and family and Michael. 

You think you are his, but you are mine. 

He is the one in your heart, but I am the one in your head. I am the one you can’t get rid of. I am the Shakespeare to your Romeo and Juliet, the author of your tragedy and downfall. 

I have already set the stage. All that’s left is the fall.

And once we reach the ending, I’ll create your sequel. A better story. A better you.

You’re my tragedy years in the making, a tragic ending soon to be fulfilled. 

The end is near.