Sometimes you must allow an alley cat to reveal himself. Give his tongue free reign so that he can expose his character. Like a mouse aware of the traps he has set for you, step into his traps, nurture his heroism like heroin, let him expose his empathy and lack thereof. Unleash him from your careful rules and fences and defences. Without societal norms, like chains around his throat, will his chauvanism be exposed to daylight? Will you bring his hatred for womankind to the surface, if you unleash him, into the ocean, no anchor, no lifeboat. Only the fear of losing you, the fear of jumping your ship, only to never return again, never allowed to sail with you again, never allowed your companionship, never allowed your warmth and light, the sweetest distraction in a cold and dark world. Let him reveal how he handles power over a weaker target, a mouse like you, you poor little vulnerable thing you. Before you have tossed and turned him into oblivion, shone a light on all his blind spots, you keep your womb closed, your legs crossed.
He notices my blind spots. And after he is done playing in them when I was nothing but a play thing to him, when his emotions become available, when his apathy has run dry and his empathy for me sets in, he notices my blind spots. He takes note of my lack of self respect and my pathetic willingness to forgive and produce excuses for him that he never had the imagination to produce. And that’s when he falls in love. And that’s when I fall out of love. And that’s when my self respect is restored. When I start noticing the ways he has mistreated me and the ways that I have allowed it. When I notice the spots where I lowered my guard and the remainders of the wrecking, when I notice the rubble of the walls I had built that he had smashed through. It will be too late for his tears and for his sorrow then.
That’s the perverted cycle of Peter and Wendy.