PAGE 01
I write now, sitting on the edge of the bed, my shadow on the wall unlike me.
The clock shows ten minutes to three in the morning.
Everyone is asleep, and I... am breathing with difficulty.
As if the air in this room is heavy, or my chest is tight with things left unsaid.
I didn't go out tonight.
I left the suit hanging in the corner of the room, still wet from last night.
I looked at it for a long time.
I don't know if it was the rain that soaked it... or if I cried behind the mask without realizing it.
I didn't touch it. Didn't get close.
Instead, I felt a repulsion, as if it reminded me of something I don't want to face.
I felt it belonged to someone else... someone stronger than me, farther from me, who doesn't carry this burden that weighs me down until I can no longer stand straight.
I don't know why I'm writing now.
Maybe because I can no longer bear the silence.
Or because I no longer trust the phrase "I'm fine."
I've said it so many times, to the point that I no longer believe it.
I became a shield behind which I hide, another mask added to the list of masks I wear... masks of Peter, Spider-Man, the son, the friend, the former lover, the unbreakable hero.
But I am broken. For a long time, I have been broken.
These diaries are not meant to be read.
Nor to tell tales of heroism or victories.
But to say all that is unsaid,
And write all that I dare not speak aloud.
Sometimes I wonder, if I had told the truth from the start, if I had not hidden my face behind a mask... would anything have changed?
Would Gwen have believed me?
Would Mary Jane have stayed close?
Would Uncle Ben... still be alive?
Those I loved have either left, or changed, or I no longer allow myself to get close to them.
Some I buried with my own hands.
And some buried me with their words without realizing it.
And some simply... disappeared.
I learned not to ask anything from anyone.
To be alone, to fight alone, and to suffer alone.
Not because I am brave... but because I am afraid of losing someone else.
Loss has become familiar.
As if my heart expects it every time it begins to care.
Every time someone gets close, I start thinking, "When will I lose them?"
When will they pay the price for being near me?
Gwen paid the price.
Uncle Ben... paid the price.
Harry... paid the price.
And others, whose names I don't even know, but they were there, at some moment... and then everything ended.
Every person I lose takes a part of me.
A piece that never returns.
And every time I say: I won't get close again.
But I lie to myself.
Because I miss love... and fear it at the same time.
Sometimes I think...
If I were a normal person, without powers, without a mask, without responsibility, would I be happier?
Would Gwen still be alive?
Would I live a normal life?
Would I laugh more?
Would I fear less?
But I am not normal.
And that is something I cannot change.
I carry inside me something I can never forget... something that never fades.
Not strength.
But guilt.
The city never sleeps, but I've begun to doubt it even sees.
They see me flying above them, calling me the hero.
But I don't feel like a hero.
I feel like a young man still running after a mistake he made years ago, trying to fix something unfixable.
Some nights, I put on the mask just to hide from myself.
I run through alleys, fight criminals, thinking I'm releasing my anger, but the truth is I'm running away.
From memories, from regret, from that moment I wasn't enough.
Tonight... I didn't go out.
I didn't fight anyone.
I didn't save anyone.
I was nothing to anyone.
I was just Peter.
With all my weakness, all my fear, all my exhaustion.
And most importantly... all my honesty.
And that scares me more than any enemy I've faced.
To be me, without masks.
To face myself as I am.
With my flaws, my sins, everything I lost and no longer know how to reclaim.
I often wonder: does anyone know what it means to always be in the middle?
Not heroic enough to save everyone, nor ordinary enough to be forgotten?
To live every day on the edge of memory, with every smile feeling temporary?
To fear love, not because you don't want it... but because you know you will lose it.
That's why I write.
Not to tell a story... but to stay alive.
To give every face that left me a line.
And every broken moment, a second chance to be understood.
And for myself... something like solace.
Maybe tomorrow I'll write about Gwen.
Or about Uncle Ben.
Or about Mary Jane, when she looked at me and didn't recognize me.
Maybe I'll write about the moment I hated myself.
Or the day I thought I saved someone... only to kill them by accident.
But tonight, all I want...
Is to begin.
To lay the first stone of this wall I'll build around my pain,
Not to hide it, but to understand it.
This is the beginning of my diary.
The beginning of what's left of me.
I am Peter Parker.
And I write... because I can no longer stay silent.
__________
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the first 5 chapters will be free
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-All rights reserved to their original owners. I do not own any of the Marvel characters, otherwise Peter wouldn't be miserable.