Mirror, Mirror.

It was one love. Just split in two.

"You be Romeo and I'll be Juliet. You're right. They both ended up dead. You be Anthony. I'll be Cleopatra. Oh. Right. Same deal. Fine, you be Spencer Tracy and I'll be Kate Hepburn. I know, I know. She was his mistress and they never married, but they were really in love, see. He was just Catholic. Okay, you be Richard Burton and I'll be Liz Taylor. Well, it doesn't matter that they didn't end up together. The last letter he wrote was to her. Alright, you be Paul Newman and I'll be...no, wait, I hate Joanne Woodward. Because. She's boring. You be Cyrano and I'll be Roxanne. What? They were cousins? Oh, okay. Forget that. You be F. Scott and I'll be Zelda..don't even say it. I know. I know. They were fucked. You be Dracula and I'll be.. Wait, you be Napoleon and I'll be Josephine. They didn't end up together? Fine. You be Rhett and I'll be Scarlett. Who cares that they weren't real?"

Maybe we've got it all screwed up. Maybe it's not supposed to last forever. Maybe we're lucky if we get it at all. Maybe the goal should just be to love the shit out of someone. Maybe if we all accepted that it wasn't permanent, it'd be a lot easier, because if history is any indicator, the people that love each other the most don't end up together. Maybe that kind of love is too much, too big, too full. Maybe it always fades. You come in alone and you leave the same. If that's how fairy tales ended, we'd be a lot more prepared.

"Stop bullshitting. You want to be a princess. You still believe in Prince Charming."

"Not really."

"Yes really."

"I know. But it's a lot easier when I front like I don't."