I am jealous, saturated in toxic envy for nothing.
I am jealous for someone who needs no one else, who didn’t need me, and hasn’t found anyone else to fill the little hole left when she vacated me from her affections.
I am jealous because I fear someone else is thinking about her, thinking about the fickle color of her hair in the differing segments of the day, or the constellations of freckles on her face. I am jealous in the anxious thoughts that someone else is longing to her laugh like I am, jealous that someone else will lay their lips on her forehead, jealous and worried sick that someone else is unhappy in longing for her.
For I’d rather be unhappy and a fool for you alone than share my plight with others.
Because I still deceive myself that you feel the same way about me.
Still fancy circumstances in which you are similarly jealous
In the process of making a lot of physical and mental changes in my life in order to lead a healthier, more worthwhile existence.
We used to talk for hours about nothing in particular,
and the full stock of my heart could be accounted for.
Now we only speak in whispered sighs and hushed confessions
Never getting past “I miss you”
and, “I miss you too.”