We knew we'd fall, that it would never last. We fell in love when it was forbidden, when I was still in love with someone else, and we held our hands away from the flame. I will always regret that I waited so long to confess my feelings, allowing myself to consider Oliver in a romantic light because I believed what I felt for you was not reciprocated. And now, we're nearly enemies, not on opposite sides but not the same one either, here among the rubble of a battlefield, and all I do is lose my lips to yours. Maybe it's because we've never really gotten along, that I was a threat to your authority. Maybe it was because you brought back my powers, my identity. Maybe it was because you were kind, pragmatic, arrogant, and never did things the superhero way, the way I wanted to. I should have loved Oliver, and I did, who was steadfast, supportive, and everything good. And you, you were always the right amount of wrong, and I was the moth to the flame never able to quell the curiosity of what it would be like to be with you. So we're here, doing nothing the way it's supposed to be done, not forgetting the war but almost spurred on by it. We're both enemies and yet we're not, and that uncertainty is exhilarating. I've been both hero and villain and you're the antihero, and our pride and our oaths to our values will lead to a ruinous end, but it think that's why the passion burns like it does, recklessly, senselessly. It is and isn't love, a spark that doesn't pretend it will last forever, and promises disaster. But I think if we were both honest, that's exactly what we want.
