oh, let's play make believe and i'll dress you up in my perfect lies. i'll spin my web and tell my secrets and we can be so unbelievably happy together.
i'll connect us at the hip like lost puzzle pieces and i'll solve the conundrum of us and we will be p e r f e c t.
how does that sound, darling?

but you never were satisfied with what you got. (and i'll try and i'll try until i'm quite blue in the face and it'll never be good enough) — you always wanted better, i find myself wondering what's good enough for you.
because honey, you always did deserve the best, didn't you?

but, oh, sweetheart, we can play make believe until we can't tell reality from dreams any longer and we can be perfect cookie cut out people with no real ambitions other than perfection.
we'll live in a doll's house, can you imagine?, it'll be red roofed and picket fenced and bricks will be white (untainted; pure).
the windows, oh, they'll be perfect squares with floral curtains peeking out and each night, we'll draw them so no one can see the flaking paint on our china masks and the clockwork mechanism of our movements as the puzzle pieces fall—

and we'll watch the destruction of us; we'll watch my lies crumble and your ambitions shatter. the house will vanish, no more picket fences, no more red rooves, no more angel-white brick.

just me, and you, and the remains of our imperfections.