Rose Lalonde is one of the most infuriating, irritating, beautiful human beings you have ever met.
You hang out at her house and you read lad's mags and make fun of the cheesiness and bad photography and shitty articles no one actually wants to read.
You call it irony; she calls it a study of the human being.
Both of you stare at the girls with the slim waists and perky tits and joke about daddy issues while still enjoying looking at them.
(completely unironically)
You like the smirking blondes that look like they want to be here.
(like her I guess)
She likes brunettes, full figured with expressive faces.
(everything I'm not)
You're thirteen years old and this is when you realize two things.
You love her.
And you can't have her.
Over the next year she drills into your head and exposes your inner thoughts.
(bullshit)
You're entering your teenage years in full swing, a real Casanova just like your brother.
(yeah right)
You date chicks, it's fun, but they never last more than a month, some only a week.
At school she doesn't hang out with you as much as she did when you were kids. She keeps to herself and spends more time on the library doing extra credit work she doesn't need.
(when we were five we two went for a stroll outside her country house and got lost. she hung onto me with all her strength and I swore I'd protect her)
John is good company but it's not the same and one day he introduces her to his sister. Your suspicions are confirmed when she starts dating Jade.
You go through 5 more girls
(they didn't last a week)
and then you retreat into yourself.
Bachelor for life you say, not meant to be tied down. John makes gay jokes and you humor him.
Jade and Rose are getting pretty serious but it's your senior year and Rose says she wants to go to Harvard and Jade wants to go on a trip around the world.
They break up.
(I was so happy)
She goes away to college. You don't.
You are eighteen years old.
It's been three years since you last talked to her. When she first moved away you'd talk to her every day but soon that turned to every week, every month.
By the time she started on her second year of college, you just didn't talk anymore. She got her own apartment, more workload,
new friends.
You're twenty two and you meet a girl. Her name is Terezi.
You have fun together.
Eventually you get a house and move in.
You start to forget about her and her blond hair and violet eyes and her insufferable snark and psychoanalyzing.
You're twenty three when she comes back.
You're DJing at a club when she walks in and leans against the bar, smirking at you.
(my world crashed)
She has a girlfriend, her name is Kanaya , and she's moving back to your hometown.
You start to hang out again and you're reminded of why you fell in love with her.
You break up with Terezi.
She marries Kanaya's when you're twenty four.
You're twenty five when you sell your first script, twenty six when the movie is released, same year she's published. When you're thirty you're both rich as fuck.
She divorces Kanaya when you're thirty one. She couldn't handle the fame and the paparazzi.
You're there for her.
(always)
You're thirty five when her mother dies. You help her pack her stuff.
You find a box of lad's mags and you sit on the floor.
You make fun of the cheesiness and bad photography and shitty articles no one actually wants to read and how outdated everything is.
You call it nostalgia, she calls it a middle aged crisis.
Both of you stare at the girls with the slim waists and perky tits and joke about being teenagers and loving doing dumb shit together.
(completely unironically)
You like the smirking blondes that look like they want to be here.
(like her you guess)
She likes brunettes, full figured with expressive faces.
(everything I'm not)
You're 35 years old and this is when you realize three things.
You still love her.
And you still can't have her.
But you're okay with that
(I'm okay as long as I have her)