I was a jealous mess. it was my fault really, but what could i do? What is a girl to do? His eyes were hypnotizing and his voice was addictive. His lips looked like valleys and his words felt like a simmering something, a selfish tease. His shoulders were landscapes and his breath was made of daisies. His chest was heavy and his arms were made up of bits and pieces of forever. His tongue was the clouds and his hands were strong and delicate, forceful yet graceful. They held me like i was glass. A smile sweet as honey on a face that was made up of everything i'd exchanged my pennies for at the wishing well. He was a world in his own right, made up of mistakes and mischief, misguided conversations and miserable mockery. Livened with lovely lyrics and lustrous allure and the light of a million suns. The burn of a blaze and the bite of a bullet. The fog of a haze and the fun of a trance, fickle and feverish, futile and fast, fawn-worthy. With a presence so warm he could melt my inner ice, I left myself to his devices. He was the device of the heavens.
I was envious more than anything. Of the girl with the desk to the right, pants skin tight and an eye for guys with great hair. But she wasn't my most worthy opponent. The girl who loved to tell me tantalizing details of the touchy-feely contact between them. She wasn't a risky added player either. You'd think it was the pair of cherry red heels and pink bud lips in the corner of the room but no she was going steady with a mirror and daddy's credit card. Maybe the girl back home I couldn't understand, I could never never understand them. They spoke in different tongues, my mind telling me they spoke with each other's tongues. I can't think like that - stop! Conversations that sounded like paper crinkling but that were so much more capable. "Jsi krasna", "laska meho zivota", "ona neni ten". She was beautiful. The typical skinny mini in mini skirt with a not so mini rack and bulging blue eyes, long blonde hair and tan skin. Though she was a real self esteem bummer, she was too far, for now, to be worth the worry.
I was idealistic beyond compare. The way words floated through us like air and how a look felt like a sweet breeze. Thats the secret. It was the breeze, the air. It was the moon. It was the sun. My biggest enemies, my greatest opponents, the risks that were bait to peak my envy. Green is not my colour.
I have a theory that summer depends on him - as does the spring, as does the fall - and the winter comes along when he needs to be someone else's muse. I was jealous of the sun, of her rays. The way they get to wrap themselves around him, they way they get to feel him, touch him, at every moment. The way he sought after her, the way he looked at her and the way he looked when he was with her, glimmering and beaming as bright as could be and nothing else could make him look like that. Whenever e was in his darkest place, she would maintain her bright, her light, wonderful and make it undeceiving. With her inevitable and her warmth, the dark felt like it never happened.
The sun, what a bitch. Right? A show off, dangling herself in front of him and dangling him in front of me until i lose my mind. I think she's winning. She's won. She has him. She's feeling the small of his neck and the soft of his cheeks and depths of his hands and he's warming up to her. She's all over him and he doesn't mind, who would mind? She lets him glow and break into something free, let more of himself show which, well, though beneficial for him, is quite distracting for me. She hugs him and kisses his skin and glides right through hair like its nothing, so easy. She doesn't tremble when he talks or hold her breath when he speaks or get blinded by herself when he looks at her.
I was jealous of the sun, how she had the moon and the stars and him unsuspecting but reveled in their attention and raveled herself in how they felt and got to be with them when they were alone - got to see him in ways no one else ever could. I was jealous of the sun, I couldn't keep him warm.
