Existent

Jealousy

It hurts, Love. 

And yet, We always seem to find ourselves right back in the sinking hole that is our oblivion. Seeming to forget the pain that was so prominent before, we have this reversible trait to want to go back, right to square one, and associate ourselves with the steps towards falling in love and the, one leaping jump towards heartbreak. 

It is so excruciating, seeing someone you love, touch another. But we endure it. We endure it until it overflows through our chests and out of the very elements that caused us this grief. Our eyes. They say love is blindness, and there is no better way to put it. Not because, we have to close our sight to the flaws of our partners, but we have to close our minds, shut them like doors, slammed- we have to turn off the lights and lay in darkness at night so we don't have to see the places that have fingerprints all over them.

Fingerprints that are not our own. 

And watch how their bodies erupt in unstoppable laughter at another's jokes. How their faces light up at company you despise, company that you know have prying eyes, that lurk in between your lovers thighs, at your demise, but if you speak out, you're controlling, you're taking away their freedom- and you are not a psychopath, no you are not one of those partners. 

You'll confuse yourself with your own feelings, wondering why, why can't you turn it off and just be normal. Why do you have to be such an insolent, jealous cunt. Why on earth do you care so much?

They'll say, maybe you're not in love. Maybe you've grown obsessed, maybe you feel alone- but you're not in love. No people who are in love, they know of this enigma called trust. If you knew of love, you wouldn't care how many people your lover touched. Because apparently being in love means trusting someone enough to let them do whatever the fuck they want but knowing that late at night when they decide they've had enough they'll come right back to you. Yes, that's what you should expect, that's relationship "goals". That you could love someone so much, that you trusted them that much. 

Maybe it was the other people you could not trust, because you remember being just her friend, but how soon it was after that you were climbing in between her sheets thinking, you did not care quite frankly, if she had someone else. Enough vodka in you, and you won't even care who you're fucking. So please, please, don't fuck with me. 

Please don't try to teach me about how men think. Because I have known enough to know every bolt of electricity rushing through their brainless minds. 

And I mean, A girl like you? Who wouldn't be consumed with the mere sight of you. The thought of a strangers eyes, skimming upwards, drinking you in- it turns my stomach inside out, for I would pin my thumbs into those sockets and press right back to remove that image from his head, If I were there- but I am not. 

I am not.